


A Sorta Fairytale

by teaandchess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, fairytale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandchess/pseuds/teaandchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is nothing more than a Captain of a Garrison in the land Elysium, content to live his life serving his country. But a chance meeting with a snippy young woman named Meg spins his world about and suddenly nothing will be the same again. An AU told in Fairytale style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time is the stuff of fairy tales. Of princesses, romance, and magic. Of good versus evil.

So naturally, this isn’t exactly fairytale though there are some parts that remain the same.

The Kingdom of Abaddon had long been loathed by Elysium. In the way of most neighbouring countries, they spent the better part of their years fighting. Fighting enormous battles without any sign of an end, letting the rivers run red with blood and scorching the earth. No one knew why they fought; some said that it had all been started over a woman and an apple, others that it was mere jealousy. Elysium was all grassy hills, winding rivers, and immense forests of white trees, while Abaddon was a land of dark woods and treacherous mountains. The contrast between the two was a stark one, yet Elysium did covet the one thing that Abaddon had. Its magic. Endless founts of it. It was pure essence, with no light or dark deciding it fate. Abaddon only wanted one thing from Elysium: its destruction for its real and imagined crimes.

So the story goes, anyway.

It’s the hundredth year of the Hundred Year War between Elysium and Abaddon and as far as anniversaries go, this was to be a tricky one. War was the only thing the two nations had known and they were not about to put their differences aside for the sake of realizing how foolish that war was. Not when one side had accomplished something their ancestors had only dreamed about at one time. The ruler of Abaddon, Azazel, had managed a successful coup against the two heirs to Elysium by capturing one and ransoming him to the other. The two brothers would do anything for each other and he had a powerful weapon in their brotherly love.

But Azazel failed to realize that the one person he should keep his eye on was in his own household and had remained as rebellious as a wild cat. He also couldn’t see for all his power that near the Borderlands, a host of Angels was gathering, readying for war to retrieve their stolen leader back to them. A host that wasn’t about to lose to the legions of demons that stood between them and the crown prince of Elysium.

##

“Your horse is your best weapon when faced with a horde of enemies. Be unseated and you are as good as dead.”

The words weren’t shouted yet were loud enough to be heard over the ring of steel and the smack of leather on leather. One man yelled when a hit was too close to his own head and he was unseated to the ground with a resounding thump. It was followed by loud laughter and admonishing scolds, but no one moved to help him as a loud trumpet was blown and a second charge stormed the small dusty practice ring. Then it became a sea of horses and men, all brilliantly decorated in the whites and dark blue of the Garrison.

The horses were snorting and dancing as they were pressed together to fight their opponents. Some snaked their heads forward to chomp on the necks of the other horses, others kicked out and narrowly missed the fragile and soft bodies of the riders who had fallen to the ground. Trained chargers were as deadly as a sword in battle and the men riding them fought hard to prove how ready they were. They’d all heard the rumours, after all, of where they would be fighting, and every one of them wanted the chance to earn their right to fight in the legendary Wings of the Host.

Yet all that Castiel saw as he watched them fight was a sea of novices, barely ready to be horsed let alone blooded on the battlefield. As Captain of the Garrison he knew what to look for when it came to prepared soldiers. These men would be hard-pressed to do more than scream in fear of battle before they even cut their first battle wounds. Even he, in his youth, had been better prepared for battle. These were mere boys being brought to fight with men and women who had long defended the borders of Elysium. With his luck, they’d throw fits at the last moment before the charge and he’d be left alone on the field. Adjusting his reins in one hand, he clicked his tongue and tilted his head to the side. His horse, Sword, stamped his forefeet in an endless one-two dance, tossing his head several times in rhythm with the movements. Over the clash of swords and men, Castiel heard his superior murmur disapproval.

“They are all so green,” she said before bending her head. He watched her undo the harness that strapped her helm to her head and she removed her sparkling steel and gold helmet to reveal shining red hair and features so pale she might have been ghostly. “What does Uriel say?”

“Same as all of us, Lady Anna. They need experience before we take them into Abaddon for our mission.” He rested his hand on the saddle pommel. “But there is no time. So all we can do is school them over and over again and hope that the drills will prepare them.”

She nodded and chewed on her lower lip in thought. “Those in Abaddon haven’t given us much choice. It might be for the best,” she agreed.

Castiel watched her, struck as he always was by the serenity in her expression. They could be knee-deep in the Abaddon Knights, the ‘demons’ to their ‘angels’, and she would still be calm. Even blood soaked and battered, she would not falter. He admired her the most of all his commanders, even above the ArchAngel generals, and had aspired to be like her when it came to keeping his calm. He had achieved it and more, going so far that his own men called him the coldest fish they knew. No one dared say it to his face but it was thought of and he knew what they said of him. No matter; sooner or later, he’d be recognized and he could climb even higher within the Garrison.

Anna’s eyes suddenly alighted on something in the distance and she nodded. “You might want to help me keep an eye on His Highness. He’s insisted on fighting amongst us now but his advisors do not want him to fight.”

Castiel looked at where the tall young man was riding into the fray, wearing a disguise of a herald’s helm and grey armour. Clever. He turned his blue eyes on Anna. “I’ll do my best to guard him. But I thought…”

She raised both eyebrows, not used to him questioning her.

“I thought that the Archangels were his guard.”

“They are needed to help manage the citizens. They won’t see battle for some time,” she said without any rancour. Anna accepted some things as they were though she was renowned for doing things her own way. Her own way saved lives, rather than waste them, but she wasn’t known for her mercy when it came to the demons. With a tilt of her head, she and Castiel started to ride a wide circle around the group in the practice field. Her bay charger danced as impatiently as Castiel’s white Sword, and both horses nipped at each other. Anna turned in her saddle to watch the battle, her eyes solely on the young Prince riding amongst the men and fighting as rough as they were. It would be on her head if he was hurt and she had no intention of letting him see true battle. Blunted weapons would have to be the most he fought. She did admire his skill though and she remained quiet as she watched.

Used to her silence, Castiel looked around, enjoying the view of the green valley in the bright sunshine. He closed his eyes and stretched his senses out, let it all flood into him. The warmth, the light, the peace of the valley. Everything suddenly seemed to envelope him and he enjoyed it. Magic seeped out of his fingertips to wrap around them, to make the sky a bit bluer, the sunlight even warmer. Becoming captain of the guard had many advantages, though he had fought long and hard to get to this point. The best advantage was that he could use his limited magic to lift the fog, to let the sunshine in and he let it bathe his face in warmth.

His hearing though was working hard and his senses began tingling with awareness.

“We don’t want you here, wench!”

“Get out!”

“I’m just trying to walk through town.”

“If you don’t pay the toll, you ain’t walkin’ anywhere!”

Castiel turned in his saddle and looked across the practice field to where the small town stood. It was a simple staggering of buildings, old brick and plaster builds raising in high steeples and rounded domes of roofs. A pathetic little town really, compared to the shining cities near the capital, but Castiel dismissed the looks of it in favour of seeing what was happening in the gated entrance way to the town. Three men were blocking the way of a small figure dressed in dirty rags, pushing back and forth. He saw a fist lift and fall, saw the smaller person go to their knees to block the blow, and then curl on their side while still warding off further blows. It appealed to a softer side within him, the one he tried so hard to hide.

Hearing his sharp intake of breath, Anna followed his gaze and smiled.

“Go on, then. You always do like to help the helpless,” she said. She reined in her horse and turned him around to head back to the practice ring. With a grin, she tossed her red hair over a shoulder and gave him a playful once-over. “I might put you up for sainthood. Castiel the Chaste and Pious.”

Castiel scowled at her. “It almost sounds like an insult from you.”

Her smile widened into a grin. “Come on, Castiel, you sound like you think it isn’t true.”

He huffed and wheeled his horse around before kicking him into a canter towards town. Anna’s laughter followed him and as he rode he let it stew inside him. The Chaste and Pious. He was seen as stuck up and cold by his own men and he knew it. He just didn’t think that his betters thought it of him as well. There were worst titles he could be called and yet he wanted to be known as something more. He knew that he was young for his position and he had true belief in the missions of the Garrison. Anna had said he could prove himself when they went to complete their mission in the next month. Maybe that would be his chance, his golden opportunity.

The shouting drew his attention off his own problems.

Bending low over his horse’s neck, he rode the charger faster towards the entrance of the town. He thought he saw a glint of metal in the small figure’s hand and he spurred his horse, feeling the giant lurch in the massive body. The horse snorted and Castiel pulled on the reins until they came to a crashing halt that knocked all four of the citizens to the ground. Through the cloud of dust and dirt, he saw a knife go skittering across the dirt. The ragged figure scrambled to their feet while the others groaned and slowly pushed up onto their buttocks.

“What the hell is the big idea?” a large man demanded and Castiel glared at him. He deliberately flashed the insignia on his chestplate and the sight of the wings within the gold circle made them all gape.

“You’re speaking to a Captain of the Garrison, sir. Show some respect,” he demanded and instantly all three men rolled to their bellies and began grovelling at him. Satisfied, he turned to see that the fourth person was not grovelling but instead putting themselves to rights. They were no man but a small woman, he could tell by the curve of her body and the long dark hair that tangled about her face. She was busy wiping the muck and grime off her clothes and making a bit of a show of not looking him in the eye. Castiel watched her for a moment then looked at the men. “Three men attacking a lone woman?”

“We weren’t attacking her, like. Just razzing her up a bit. She ain’t from here,” one man said, chancing a look up.

“So that means you threaten a stranger. This town is so small I would have thought better of its citizens,” Castiel said. Especially a Garrison town, he thought.

“Was just for fun.”

Castiel fingered the hilt of his sword where it was strapped to his saddle. The decorated scabbard, etched with ancient runes and his full name along the side, felt heavy against his fingertips and he took comfort from its weight against his leg. He looked at the woman again but she was ignoring him still, shaking her head at the amount of mud decorating her. Not that she should, in Castiel’s opinion; she looked poor enough that he doubted she was ever clean to begin with. The men continued to chatter, talking over one another to prove a point. One voice caught his attention and touched a sore nerve.

“…She looks like little more than a whore on the road, sir.”

The sword leapt to his hand and Castiel swooped it through the air to lop off a chunk of the offending man’s thick braid.

“Even if that were so, respect the lady.”

He could have sworn he heard a snort from the woman in question. He glanced to see her watching them but then her head bent and she resumed rubbing mud out of her shirt.

“Now all of you, get out of here before I change my mind and decide to bring you up on charges. Even if it is just a charge of harassment,” he threatened and gave his sword a quick swirl in the air with one hand as if to prove his threat. It sent all three men scurrying for the back alleys as if Hell was on their tail and with a satisfied grin, the kind that took years off his handsome features, Castiel turned back around to the girl he’d saved.

Only to find her walking away from him, muttering to herself about how she was going to get clean.

“Miss? Hey… hey!” Castiel dismounted quickly, knowing better than to ride his horse through a bustling town, and jogged to catch up to her. The woman turned, hands in the air, and Castiel skittered to a stop on his heels. He couldn’t help but stare. Castiel had seen enough beautiful women, more beautiful he was sure — he was minor nobility after all — but there was something incredibly striking about her. Her dark eyes flashed with sparks and her dark brows slashed with wild ferocity over them, leading to a pouting mouth and a pointed chin that was lifted in pure defiance. As if she was daring him to look longer.

So he did. He looked his fill long past what was polite and he didn’t lessen the intensity of his gaze. Neither did she. He felt the heat of that look shoot through to the core of him. Something unsettled him from that look and he held the stare as long as he could, determined not to let her see how just one look from those dark eyes rattled.

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers in the air before his eyes to distract his stare. “Hey what? Did you need me for something?” she asked. Her own eyes dropped to the sword in his hand. “Or did you want to have a go at me with your big knife?”

Only a peasant could be that ignorant of what he carried but Castiel was willing to let it go. “Maybe I was hoping for a thank you.”

Her pouting lips raised in a sneer and she grabbed her ragged hem. She dropped one knee behind the other in an artful curtsey and fell nearly to that knee she went so low. “Why thank you, my lord. What would I have done without you?”

Funny, for a peasant she spoke quite fine.

“You’re welcome.” Castiel was satisfied at first until he saw the roll of her eyes.

“You don’t know much about sarcasm do you?” she asked. She straightened up with a snap and turned around on him, heading down the street through the town. “ I had it under control.”

Castiel chose to follow her again, tugging on Sword’s reins to keep the horse with him. “Not from the sounds of it.”

She turned around and almost smacked into him he was following her so closely. “Who are you exactly?” she demanded and he bristled, offended by how bluntly she spoke.

“I am a Captain of the Garrison, as I said. You should show me some respect.”

“Well does the Captain of the Garrison have a name?” She rolled her eyes again.

“You should only call me milord or Captain,” he ordered. “What is your name?”

“A name for a name.”

“I don’t think so,” he countered. “You should be thanking me properly. As suits your station.”

“But I’m not, am I?” She stepped closer, until she was toe to toe with him, and her proximity disturbed him all the more. “My father had a loyal old dog called Clarence. I should call you that, Captain of the Garrison.”

He glared down at her and then she was off walking again. Annoyed, Castiel dropped his reins and caught up to her. “Are you always this rude to people who help you?”

“I had it handled.”

He grabbed her elbow and hauled back, forcing her to lift her wrist to the air. The knife in her hand was an ugly sight and he clicked his tongue like a disappointed parent. “If you hurt them, I’d have to take you.”

“Oh.” She pressed up into him and he felt her lips brush his jaw. “Promises, promises.”

Castiel almost turned red and let her go, far too aware of her now. Trying to will his blush to leave, he distracted himself by dusting off the leather of his vambraces and stepping back. “That isn’t what I meant. What is your name?” he asked again and she seemed to think it over.

“Friends call me Meg. You can call me “Your Highness.”” The order was said with a mocking smile that sent a chill through him and Castiel shook his head.

“Peasants with visions of glory.” He looked up at the sky. “Why did you punish me with her?”

Meg looked up at the sky as well. “Who are you talking to?”

“Someone a woman like you would be best to know,” Castiel muttered. He took her arm in his and led her away from the tavern nearby. A tavern he could see those men lingering close to. Meg seemed to not realize what he was doing and began to struggle. The more she struggled the closer she came to him and he realized how bad an idea this likely was. Her dark hair swung between them and he caught a faceful of it. He noticed how sweet it still smelled. That unsettled feeling came crawling back into his skin and he let her go again.

“At least let me take you to wherever you need to go. So you remain unhurt,” he offered. The gallant offer was ignored and she sighed in a long, drawn out way.

“No thanks. I do better on my own. I have somewhere to be.”

“I insist,” Castiel said, taking hold of her hand and leading her away from the town square. He missed her desperate look to the left and then right.

She had to get him to let her go. Meg knew she should fight back and kick and scream but it would do no good. He was stronger than her. Just enough that he could hurt her if he chose. But if he didn’t let her go, she was going to have to do something desperate to get him to let her go. Something she shouldn’t have to do.

To the left and right, she saw the people scurrying from building to building, stealing supplies for the wagons outside. All it would take would be for her rescuer to look up and notice. She’d been doing her best to shoo him away and the obstinate Angel wasn’t listening to her.

Oh she knew what he was and knew she should be hiding her own head. Thank the dark that he didn’t have the wit to look for the signs below the faint glamour she wore. He hadn’t noticed yet and probably never would if she could just keep him distracted. Better yet, get him away from her and back to the garrison practicing in the distance.

Why the hell would he rescue a single peasant girl? He’d charged in like some big damn hero and she hadn’t actually needed his help. It all seemed foolish to her.

There was a crash and Meg saw his head lift.

“What?” she asked, keeping her voice bored yet innocent.

“I’m not sure.” The Angel was looking left and right and his brow was wrinkled as if he was drawing some conclusion in his head.

Oh damn, Meg realized. He was clueing in.

“Why did you rescue me?” she asked to distract him and he murmured something. Something slightly insulting to her, she was sure of it. “Clarence?”

“Don’t call me that,” he said and finally his attention was back on her. His head swung in her direction just as another crash happened, the impact of a fire barrel meeting the bed of a wagon, and Meg saw four women and men rushing through the courtyard. Without the glamour to hide what they were, all he needed to do was see…

He started to look in their direction and Meg decided to take her chances. She stepped into him and slid her hand up his shoulder.

“I should just say thank you,” she breathed with just enough wistfulness to come across as innocence and sweet. His head turned back to her and she rocked up onto her toes. Her mouth pressed chastely to his, and she felt his shock make his body rigid and unyielding. He didn’t kiss her back, not at first. He merely held the contact of her lips on his and made a muffled sound. Meg parted her lips and took his lower lip in her mouth, drawing it closer so that she could deepen the kiss.

Then something changed inside him and the kiss was finally returned. He kissed her back with a ferocity usually left between lovers and she tasted an intoxicating blend of his natural taste and something acidic like wine from him. The press of his lips on hers was fevered and hurried, as if he couldn’t get enough of her and her mouth. Meg swallowed down her need for air and raised both hands to his hair at the same time his own tangled in hers. The kiss continued to heat and flame something between them and she pressed as close as she could to see if she could absorb just a little bit more of that fire. Something electric passed between them and she nearly moaned when he pulled back from the kiss, only to catch herself. She had never expected him to kiss her like that.

The look in his eyes was equally bewildered and he swayed a little on his feet. Meg licked her lower lip and let him go.

“Thanks,” she repeated, clearing her throat repeatedly to hide the crack in it. He nodded and let her hair release from his hand, the tangles snagging on his fingertips. Meg recovered fast though and while he was still dazed she backed away. He stared at her, hands held limply at his sides. Meg looked over his shoulder and saw that the wagons were already headed out the East passage, out of sight towards the Borderlands and the Abaddon forests.

Perfect.

She looked into those blue eyes again and grinned.

“I’ll see you around,” she said and winked at him as she continued to back towards his horse. Her Clarence still looked confused and breathless and she decided to use that to her advantage.

With a graceful pirouette she ran, lifting her skirts high about her waist so that her pale legs flashed him, and mid-sprint she leapt upon the white charger. The horse reared, confused by the new weight on its back, but Meg dug her knees into its side and gave it its head. With a joyful buck, the charger galloped down the street, the crowds parting and shouting at her to watch it. The horse just grazed its master as it passed him, and Meg reached out with a hand. Her fingertips grazed his face and she felt her nail scratch his cheek just a little. With a laugh, she took up the reins again and steered the horse towards the forest. All the while leaving her rescuer behind, staring dumbly after her.

Castiel watched long after the dark figure on a white horse disappeared from sight. He hadn’t made a single move towards his garrison or to follow her.

He could only stare and wonder. Wonder at the gall of a simple peasant woman. Wonder at how that woman had treated him with no respect or deference… and he had let her. Wonder at the how that kiss had been unexpectedly exciting.

“She kissed me,” he whispered, reaching up to touch the light scratch on his cheek. He let his fingers trace the mark she’d left on him. “She…”

Then he realized the reality of what had just happened.

“Damn! She stole my horse!”


	2. Chapter 2

The courtyard was filled with the ringing sound of steel kissing steel as figures in black moved in a macabre dance across the yard. In the shadow of the old and decaying Castle Acheron, they fought with a fury and calculating appreciation for each other. Even the few people watching knew better than to come a step closer and clung to the rails instead. The courtyard had been nearly deserted for hours since the Legion left to reinforce the walls and for the past hour it had been used for fighting lessons.

One fighter, a dark haired woman with pert and small features, ducked a coming blow and her sword slithered out to parry the thrust of a dagger. She twisted her wrist, catching the hilt of the dagger in her own sword, and disarmed her opponent easily. With a wild grin, she spun up from her crouch and smacked the flat of her sword against the leather-clad back. The man she struck went to a knee and his accompanying groan made her throw her head back and laugh. She gave him another hearty smack on the rear.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” she taunted, spinning about on her heel and heading to the weapons rack. “I should tell Lilith that her favourite Knight is struggling to defeat a girl like me.”

Her attacker suddenly sprang to his feet, silent as a panther on the prowl, and walked stealthily towards her. He paused just long enough to look her over from head to toe with almost intimate thoroughness and then cleared his throat. She turned, an axe at the ready, and gasped as he took her throat in one hand. His fingers cruelly pressed so tight that she started to choke for breath. With a twist of his sword hand, he smacked her in the temple with the butt of his sword. She went down into a heap, lying stunned in the mud with her eyes wide-open but not seeing a thing. Her chest continued to heave for breath and eventually she moaned in pain. Her attacker lifted a hand, pressed his finger to his exposed lips, and shushed her. Instantly more spiralling pain began to pulse through her but, to keep him from knowing how badly she hurt, she bit into her lower lip so sharply that she bled.

Tearing off his fencing mask, the grey-haired man nudged her with a toe.

“I’m not that old, Ruby. And you’re still bad for leaving yourself wide open. One of these days you’re going to get stabbed and your precious Lilith won’t have her protector around,” he said with a confident grin. When she didn’t move, he shrugged a shoulder and headed for the hitching rail where the crowd was slowly dispersing. He tossed one of the servants his bone-hilted sword, wincing when the boy dropped it, and started to pull off his gloves.

A loud clatter of hooves caught his attention. The horse was moving at speed and that usually meant trouble in his experience. Muttering to himself, he crossed the yard to look down the causeway, and the entire time he kept slapping his gloves against his hand in a repeated motion. Thundering down the road was a large white horse, its frantic run slowing up to an easy canter as it came to the slippery cobblestones. The woman on its back was at first glance a peasant, dressed in a ragged skirt and dirty white blouse with an old red cloak flying out behind.

Cain, the First Knight of the Legion, knew better than most how deceiving that first glance was.

“You stole the horse, didn’t you?” he asked the rider as the pair rounded the corner at a high-stepping trot. Cain stepped over the barely conscious Ruby and went to the weapons rack. He took his time selecting a weapon, letting his fingers caress each sharp edge, before speaking over his shoulder. “I gave you orders to steal supplies, Meg, not horses.”

Flinging her cloak hood back, the woman reined in beside him and gave the stallion a pat. “But look at him, Cain. He’s gorgeous. And I like to collect pretty things,” Meg said with an excited smile. But for all her smile and brave words, she seemed distracted. Something that Cain noticed, especially how she frowned when she seemed to think of something that troubled her.

He watched the beast as it snorted and stamped a hoof just inches from his own foot. A trained charger by his guess and a well-bred one at that. It was no Abaddon mule. “Where’d you get him, Meg?” Cain asked as he walked around the horse. As he eyed the fine lines of the horse, he saw her shrug and knew immediately that she was about to cause problems for him. “Answer me. Now.”

“Some Angel in Elysium couldn’t mind his own business. I had to distract him,” she said, waving a hand flippantly.

“By stealing his horse?”

Her expression was stony calm but Cain knew that something else was going on underneath that carefully worn mask. She actually seemed flustered. “No…not exactly.”

Cain saw that something had disturbed his pupil and tried hard not to smile. “I think I’d rather you killed him.”

“Didn’t get a chance. But next time.” She drew a line across her throat with a finger and made a garrotting sound. “He’s mine.”

“I’m sure.”

With a fatherly smile, he passed the charger again while Meg slid from her horse’s back. Her hands were rubbed raw from holding the reins so tight and she quickly tore up a chunk of her skirt to wrap the blisters. As she wrapped, she eyed the brunette now woozily getting to her feet.

“What happened to Ruby?” she asked. She looked at the Knight to see he was standing incredibly erect and she instinctively backed up a step.

“She forgot her lessons.” Cain spun and from the weapons rack a short sword flew to his hand. In the next step he swung, just missing her wrist, and Meg jerked her hand backward. He tilted his head a little. “And it looks like you’re no better.”

“Damn it,” Meg muttered and extended her hands. A rapier and dagger set flew to her hands and she dropped into an elegant pose, ready for him. Cain moved quickly towards her, each stride jagged yet crisp.

“I taught you better, Meg,” he said, clucking his tongue to scold her.

She spun the dagger in her hand and narrowly missed being able to lift it to block the sword slicing towards her throat. Heaving the strike to the side using his own strength against him, they both heard the loud crack as the force of Cain’s blow chopped a wood rail in half. Meg swallowed down a curse word when the Knight managed to smack her upside the head with his free hand.

He was still clucking his tongue at her. “I taught you better, Meg.”

“I’m not a child,” she pouted and tried to press an attack. He raised his sword to block the slow swing and glared down at her, his burly form intimidatingly close.

“A child moves faster than you. A child I taught from birth would know that you don’t leave your enemy alive. Any of those Angels is a problem.” He thrust and she parried again, the swords ringing loudly as they clashed. Cain continued with his lesson as if they were in a classroom and not fighting tooth and nail. “An enemy left alive is showing mercy. Mercy is weakness.”

He shoved her back and then began to circle her, leaving Meg to watch him warily. It was his typical recitation. Even as she fought to save her own skin, Meg wondered how much of it he still believed. Cain preferred gardening at his estate to teaching anymore. Only Azazel’s command had forced him from retirement and he had not been happy about that. That had been years ago and he had served loyally ever since, and Meg was a better swordsman for it. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

Suddenly, Cain swept in and pressed another attack. Meg blocked the furious volleys as best as she could and cried out when he sliced her deeply on the arm. She’d been too slow again. Frustrated, she banged her sword on the ground and then moved back into an offensive pose. The man across from her snorted and rolled his eyes.

“You’re distracted,” Cain observed. The bland tone of voice infuriated Meg. She’d beaten him before, when she’d gotten lucky, but he hadn’t cut her like that in years. Cain knew it too. “Distracted means dead.”

To prove his point, he spun under her sword and head-butted her so hard that stars swam in her vision. Meg retreated, shaking her head and cupping her bloody nose with a hand. Damn it, she was distracted. By Elysium and that damned Angel captain.

There was no way in Hell that she’d tell Cain about either.

“Thinking about the prisoner,” she lied and knew she was caught the instant she finally met Cain’s steely gaze. He was already opening his mouth to question her so she rushed ahead. “Do I get to torture him next?”

“You’re not touching him. What is going on in that head of yours?”

“I’m not in the mood.” She lowered her sword and then touched her tender, bloody nose with the back of her hand.

“Not in the mood?” Cain threw his sword onto the rack in clear disgust. “You’re ill? Pregnant? Lost a limb?”

“Oh please. I don’t get sick.” Meg rubbed at her mouth next and then spit out a mouthful of blood. At Cain’s look, she shrugged. “I just feel strange, is all.”

“Maybe you’re allergic to him.”

Her head bolted up. “What?” Meg demanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous note. One that the Knight ignored.

“The Angel captain. Maybe meeting him unsettled your… better nature,” Cain said with a sneer. He had to leap backward as Meg suddenly advanced on him with her own attack. The bone-sword came to his hand this time and he clambered to catch up to Meg’s fury.

“You taught me to pick my battles,” she said, heaving for breath as she fought harder than she had before. A volley was turned aside but she kicked out and caught him in the stomach, sending him to a knee. But he was up before she could carry through and she saw the way he lurched to the left. The bone sword lifted and she feinted to the right to avoid being run through. On his next pass she parried a thrust and ducked. With a jerk of her dagger, she cut him high on the ribs and grinned at his grunt of pain.

Still panting for breath, she grinned wickedly at her teacher. “So I did. He couldn’t follow me, not on foot, and he thought I was a peasant.”

“So you’re telling me not to worry that you’ve lost your nerve?” Cain asked and she flashed a toothy smirk at him. Then shrieked as he swept his leg against hers and sent her flying to the mud. She had to struggle to breathe, lying there so close to the manure and muck leftover from the legion’s horses, and eventually she opened her eyes again. Cain stood over her and he leaned down, holding the sword to her throat. He tapped it several times on her skin. “I always worry, Meg. It’s why I’ve lived so long. I don’t trust a soul.”

She coughed, catching her wind back. “That the lesson for today?”

“For today,” he agreed and he eyed where Ruby was sitting, looking as worn out as Meg. The two women wore matching, sulky looks now and he sighed, giving up for the day. He snapped his fingers at Ruby first and then at Meg. “Ruby, the Queen will want you. Meg, go see Alastair. He wanted you upstairs for some reason before we started our little—” He grinned. “— session.”

She always did recover fast, he observed when he saw how Meg’s eyes nearly sparkled. “Did he get him to talk?” she asked excitedly.

“I doubt it.” Cain shook his head, smiling with admiration. “The boy’s a strong one.”

“Maybe we just need the right leverage,” Ruby said as she took Meg’s hand and helped her up. “Isn’t that what Alastair’s been teaching you?”

The smaller woman nodded and her grin was a wicked one. “Just press the right nerve and your victim will sing for you if you ask.”

Cain gave her a disgusted look. “Watch your back around Alastair. He’s just as likely to strap you to that rack of his as he is to give you lessons.”

“Like you, Cain?” Meg taunted as she and Ruby started for the tower across the causeway together. They’d separate at the entrance for the tower.

“Keep that smart mouth up, girl, and not even Azazel will save you from me,” he threatened but he was already turning away. Meg stuck her tongue out at his back and then zipped it back into her mouth when he loudly said, “Someone should watch your tongue for you, Meg. Sooner or later, it may get ripped out.”

Ruby leaned close to her. “You shouldn’t make him angry, sister.”

"I’ve done worse. Recently too," Meg snapped. "So butt out."

Ruby’s large brown eyes widened impossibly. “You are in a bad mood. What happened in Elysium?” she asked.

"Nothing that’s any of your business," Meg snarled before leaving the other brunette at the foot of the stairs. Ruby watched her climb and smirked.

"Give the Prince my love. He probably thinks I’m nicer than you anyway. Which is true," she called out and Meg turned on her heel. She grinned at Ruby.

"And you’re a worse fighter, too."

##

The tower that Alastair occupied smelled foul and mouldy, like bones doused in old blood. Meg rubbed her nose and walked up the spiral staircase to the second level. The entire time she walked, she was aware of a low slithering sound. A sound made, she knew, by scales on the brick. The smell and heat only intensified the higher she went. Unlike other parts of the old castle, the tower’s stairs were not enclosed. The centre of the tower was completely hollow, reaching far up ten stories. The fourth level was where a platform had been erected centuries ago. The tower itself had been built for one purpose alone: torture. Meg craned her neck back and saw that on the platform two small men were scurrying back and forth, operating on some silent bidding and handing each other tools.

They almost seemed lonely, all the way up there, and she smiled to herself. Maybe they’d like some company.

Meg gathered her ripped skirts high about her waist and took the steps two at a time to get to them. The entire time she thought about the Master Torturer and what lay beyond these steps. She was curious, always had been about Alastair and his practices. A curiosity that Cain said would get her killed one day. As high as the tower was, the endless stairs were nothing now compared to the chance to know what exactly Alastair had figured out. With one hand knotted in her skirts, she ran the last few flights of stairs and came to a breathless stop at the platform.

Hate-filled green eyes were what waited for her. The man strapped to the rack had once been a Crown Prince but here, on Alastair’s rack, he was nothing more than a plaything. A plaything Meg had watched for several weeks now when she wasn’t riding the borders. He’d been here a month, long before Court had moved to the old castle, and he hadn’t broken yet. Not that the others hadn’t tried. The signs of Alastair’s torture was all over his body. Long scratches, scorch marks, teeth marks, sewn wounds, even an ugly tattoo of a dragon had been forcibly burned over his heart. Still he hadn’t broken. He was resolute that his brother would save him and that they’d all pay for what they’d done.

Meg would have admired him if only he hadn’t gone out of his way to let her know what he thought of her every single time she visited.

“So, Alastair’s little bitch is back,” he drawled. His voice was scratchy, made deep from the constant screaming he did, and she stared in open fascination at him. As always, his words managed to enrage her just a little but she ignored the fury. Instead, she walked over to the small side table and picked up a tiny saw. There was a slither to her right, and then a harsh intake of breath.

“Don’t let him bother you, little Meg. He’s just feeling testy this afternoon.”

The voice boomed all around her and Meg turned to watch the shadows in the centre of the tower. Something was moving in a slow, sinister way, but she had no fear of it. Behind her, the two men were cowering behind the rack. With one eye on the shadows, Meg approached the rack and reached out to touch the bare chest of the prisoner. Despite his bravado, he was trembling. She plucked at some of his catgut stitching and heard him grunt in pain.

“Just tell us what we need to know. Where does Elysium hide its garrisons?” she asked, pulling on the catgut a little.

“Go to Hell.”

“Such manners, Dean.” The shadow’s voice chuckled. “I’m sorry. Should I say ‘Your Royal Highness’? It’s such a mouthful. Hardly worth the effort”

Meg jumped back as a massive reptilian head appeared and hovered over both herself and Dean. Mocking orange eyes glinted at them both from within scales of dark green and grey, and the horns sprouting from the top of the dragon’s head curved wickedly. Teeth the size of Meg were licked by a long forked tongue and she shuddered in revulsion and fascination.

“Did he tell you anything, Alastair?” she asked the dragon and the massive shoulders shrugged. The long chain that held him tethered to the four posts that decorated the roof tinkled with the movement. As useful as he was, even Azazel wasn’t going to trust the dragon to be unchained and free. A good choice, in Meg’s opinion. The dragon unsettled her for different reasons. That he hadn’t flamed her to death yet only meant that she still amused the big beast, not that he actually liked her.

“Nothing yet. He is very… difficult.” The beast looked at its two sycophants. “Not that they are much use.” The cunning orange orbs fixed on Meg. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to try the knife today, Meg? All you ever do is poke and prod. You only ever use the knife when you think its necessary. Can you show a little imagination? Cut to the quick this time?”

Meg heard the seductive wheedling in the dragon’s voice. The few times she had helped him she had been filled with a sense of power and she hadn’t touched her magic once while doing it. Alastair insisted his human student do things the old fashioned way but hadn’t been able to convince her yet that his way was the right way. Meg thought the old beast thought she was weak and was determined to keep it that way. But she had felt something else: anger that a dragon could manipulate her. Like her relationship with Cain, Meg was determined to outdo her teacher.

She could get Dean to talk, she knew she could. Then Azazel would see her worth.

She picked up the knife and turned to the man on the rack. He was stiff as a board and looking like he was ready for anything she threw at him. Instead of just doing as Alastair wanted, Meg spun the knife from hand to hand and approached until she was just steps away from Dean. Then inches. So close she could smell the smoke on his body. As she raised the knife in the air, tip pointed down, his chin jutted out bravely and he gave her a cocky grin.

“Go ahead. Not telling you a damn thing.”

“You will.” Alastair was moving again, massive body rubbing against the walls of his tower. “Sooner or later.”

“My brother is coming for me.” Dean was watching Alastair again. “You’ll see.”

“It’s been a month. He’s not coming,” Meg said for the dragon. “We’d let you go if you just told us what we need.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. Dean laughed and looked away from her. His hands kept clenching and unclenching, but any magic he had was confined by the shackles that bound him. Meg doubted that he had any magic. Princes weren’t known for being bright. Or powerful. Just figureheads to large armies.

She wondered if he even remembered her name.

She raised the knife and was ready to strike when outside a large brass bell was struck. It ricocheted through the entire building and like the animal he was Alastair went on high alert. On his skinny neck, his boxy head swivelled about and his eyes focussed on the tiny windows that let in light. He huffed out a smoky breath and his nostrils flared bright red in warning. Confused, Meg turned around and set the knife down before she approached a window. Peering through, she gaped at all the smoke and fire racing across the moat that guarded the old castle. There were men and women racing to put it out and far below, the Legion was already preparing for battle. She could just make out Cain shouting orders to them and the chaos of the courtyard meant that the fiery attack must have been recent.

How had that happened?

Behind her, Dean was laughing weakly. “Told you,” he said, his accusing tone making her turn to glare at him.

“It could be anyone. Not everyone is looking for you, princess,” she sneered.

Alastair was strangely silent until he inhaled deeply. His voice was a furious hiss, “I smell Angels.”

“Angels?” Meg was dumbfounded. The arrogance of those soldiers to attack on Abaddon territory like that. Never-mind that her own people did it on a yearly basis. She made for the stairs and turned just as her foot met the first one. “See to him. Azazel wants him kept hidden.”

Alastair’s tongue hung out hungrily and with a slow, wet drag of it he licked Dean from head to toe. “I’ll devour any who enter.”

Meg looked at Dean next to see the Prince staring at her. “I’ll be sure to give your brother your love when I see him. Before I slit his throat,” she said as sweetly as possible. His angry scream followed her as Alastair’s men began to carve into him again. Meg only focussed on racing down the stairs.

Her armour. She needed her sword and her armour.

#

The battle was going to be a long and torturous one, Castiel knew that as he watched garrison after garrison be sent in. The one before his own had Balthazar and Uriel as its commanders and the two men were bickering about the best course when a catapult rock nearly smashed them both into a flat cake. Then they were off, still fighting, still arguing about the way into the castle. When the bugle came again, the sharp cry of his own men let Castiel know that it was their turn to provide flanking coverage for the infantry. An infantry fighting hard to make up the lost ground from the first failed charge.

The calvary was struggling because the Legion had been ready for them and the use of magical ground spears and hunting bows had taken down many of the horses. Try as he might, Castiel had to also focus on his own problems. He’d been nearly bucked off at the first charge and he cursed that peasant woman with everything he had for stealing his horse. The bay charger he’d borrowed from Anna spooked at every raised sword, at every holler he gave, and he could barely keep his seat. As he reorganized his men into formation, he glanced over his shoulder at the hills. His commander, along with Michael and Raphael, were waiting for either their success or their defeat. Castiel was one of many to them and already he’d seen one garrison fall to near ashes from the magic fire blasted from the catapults. Then, as the hours passed, a second and a third garrison fell, until it was his turn to lead a charge. Balthazar and Uriel were fighting at the North side of the castle and couldn’t be spared.

His life, on the other hand, could be.

Something about this stretch of land was costing them riders and he needed to figure out why. Reining in tightly, he looked over the terrain and saw what it was costing so many lives. Covered in straw and mud, the ground was filled with spikes and somewhere, a demon sorcerer was using magic to cause them to spring to life. A low movement to his left caught his attention and the glint of red only sealed his suspicions. Grabbing a spear from the tall heraldsman at his side, he balanced it neatly and then flung it through the air into the shrubs nearby. The solid ‘thunk’ and the loud chortle made him know he’d hit something hard. With a low groan, a red-eyed man fell to the ground out of the bushes and Castiel dismissed him from thought. There was more to be done.

“Full side right side. Flanking!” he shouted and his coarse voice filled the air.

“Sir,” the heraldsman said and Castiel followed his gaze to across the plains leading to the castle. A line of horses, bedecked in black leather and black metal braces, were standing at ready. He thought he saw a white horse amongst them but shook his head. That would be impossible. She was somewhere in Elysium.

“No mercy!” he shouted and his men cheered the same back at him. With a heavy kick to the horse’s ribs, Castiel charged into battle.

#

It raged for a day with the sort of blood letting that would make even the most staunch commander sick. And Castiel did feel sick as he led yet another charge. His horse ran over corpses and the still-dying, and Castiel prayed for forgiveness for having to act so rashly. Many men lay, their silver armour stark on the blood-soaked ground, and amongst them in black leathers were the demon soldiers. It wasn’t clear who was winning and Castiel felt exhausted to his bones. The cost of everything seemed too great, and he was feeling disheartened.

His sword hand was swollen and sore. Still he managed to lift his sword and deal a killing blow to a soldier who chopped at him. Muttering a prayer for his soul, he let his hand rest down on his thigh and he eyed the heavy leather armour he had taken after the silver proved too heavy. At least, he thought, he would be less of a target. Turning in his saddle, he looked over the plains ravaged by battle and had to look away from the sight of so much death.

He had only just ripped off his helmet when he heard a loud bugle of the heraldsman and he spun to see his unit’s herald at the open gates. The marker was planted and all at once the remaining garrisons began to move en masse. Renewed in their faith, they moved quickly and surrounded the castle moat before pouring into the main causeway. They pushed back the demon soldiers, forcing them inch by precious inch back towards the castle. Castiel saw a flash of silver and recognized Michael riding amongst them now and something in him rebelled a little. The Prince was in there and Michael didn’t care how many he lost to pull him out. Castiel did. He cared too much and Anna had told him that before, though it wasn’t a crime to her. Like the others, he rode for the gates and passed into the smoking ruins of the castle. His own men had let bloodlust carry them away and he knew that by now it was too late to stop them from the rampage they were on.

Disgusted, Castiel turned and nearly caught a sword to the face from a helmeted attacker. He leaned back, his bay horse rearing at the movement and the other rider backed away to avoid being struck. Castiel had to rein his horse around in a sharp circle to control it before he could manage to see who it was attacking him. Through the smoke, it was hard to see even just a few feet but enough for him to clearly see the horse they rode. A white charger when most of the horses from the Legion were black or brown. Even decked in black and silver, he knew that horse. Stunned, he looked up and raised his sword. The rider at first raised their own sword, then stopped and turned around in the saddle. The rider saw something in the distance and without realizing why Castiel followed their helmeted gaze to the distant tower. A dragon. A… dragon…. He stared at it in wonder as it ripped its way out of the tower and roared with a fury at a figure in silver and blue climbing the outer staircase. Castiel blinked. It was his herald. His…tall…herald.

“Oh damn,” Castiel whispered, realizing who it was.

His way was blocked by the other rider and he swung his sword in an arc towards them, only to have it blocked. There was a squeal of metal on metal as the swords dragged down one another. Then the white horse spun on its haunches and launched itself towards the tower. The way was blocked by smouldering wood frames and patches of oil-lit fire, but they rode with obvious ease over the dangerous terrain. Furious, Castiel spurred his own horse and followed the dangerous fire-lit path close behind. The rider dropped their reins and stood up in their stirrups, raising their dagger hand high and bracing to throw. Castiel realized that they were going to throw the dagger at the tall herald fighting the dragon.

He raced them down the path, feeling the heat and pressure of the surrounding fire, and knew that there was no way he could block the blow in time. Instead, he rode his horse as close as he dared until they were rubbing boots and he could feel the weight of their body against his. When both horses leapt over an overturned wagon he jumped out of the saddle and crashed into them, wrapping an arm around a surprisingly slender waist. They flew through the air, landing in a smoking ruin of a building that was collapsing even as he rolled off the rider. Castiel felt the impact pounding through his body with a painful ache. Groaning, he got to his knees and looked up to see the other rider already on their feet.

Dark hair spilled out as she ripped the helmet off her head and Meg glared at him from eyes turned bright by the fire surrounding them. Eyes that with his magic he realized were as black and pitiless as onyx. She was fighting for breath yet the black leather she wore making her seem like a spectre from a nightmare. Castiel stared, confused.

“You…” he whispered.

“Me.” She sneered and those black eyes seemed to have tiny sparks of orange within them.

“You’re a soldier…a demon.” He moved up onto his feet and stared at her still. “An evil little…”

“We’re way beyond name-calling, Clarence,” she taunted. “Don’t you remember?” She licked her lower lip. “I do.”

He shuddered. “If I’d known what you were, I would have killed you the second I saw you.”

Meg drew her sword through the dirt as she circled him, struggling to hide a limp from him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I want Sword back,” he warned and at her confused look he nearly sighed. “The horse.”

“Oh but I like him. He’s so pretty,” she teased and he was almost taken in by her smile again. “I take you’re here for the little Prince?”

“The Crown Prince. He better be alive.” Castiel deepened his voice as if to seal the threat. “For your sake.”

“Oo, you talk so sweet. The other prince is making you throw away your lives for him, huh? Typical Elysium royalty.”

The Captain snorted and circled with her. “What are your people doing right now?”

She laughed. “Living.”

Castiel raised his sword and pointed it at her. He was moving easier since discarding his metal armour after the first charge and the heavy leather would guard him if she was lucky enough to catch him. He didn’t like how easily she held that sword. Meg lifted her own sword and stroked it teasingly down his.

“Come on, Clarence. Don’t make me wait,” she whispered with a coy grin and cocked eyebrow.

So he attacked. It was pure skill that saved her life as the wild arc of his sword just grazed her ribs and she leaned to the side to dodge it. She swung upward with her elbow and caught him in the side, and she let herself drop down to a knee to dodge his second blow. Castiel caught her by the hair and hauled her back up, taking a slap to the face next.

He groaned as his teeth cut into his lower lip and backhanded her away. Meg grasped her jaw with one hand and backed up a step, her eyes wide and startled. Then they went to slits as she focused upon him. Twirling her sword in one hand, she reached down to her boot and pulled a dagger. Triangular in shape, it was pointed to a wicked edge and Castiel stared at it. His own expression closed off and he leaned forward, sword extended.

Meg took the invitation and leapt into an attack as well-practiced as his had been. It made her predictable but still Castiel had to keep his guard upEach thrust was met by his parry and she fought hard to find an opening in his armour. Castiel’s leather guards protected him but not enough when she closed the distance between them and sliced sharply downward. His pained yell made her grin and she twisted under his arms to dance her way just out of reach. Pointed chin thrust outward in defiance, she dangled her triangle dagger from a hand and kept her guard up with her sword held loosely by the other hand.

Castiel clutched his chest and felt the blood seeping through the leather. Startled by the pain, he stared at her. “You’re devoted to them, aren’t you?”

“Comes with the territory,” she admitted. “The royals? They’re going to rule all of Elysium some day.”

He clenched his jaw tight and circled her, sword still lifted between them in case she made yet another wild charge. But she stayed back, her smile all wickedness while her pose screamed carelessness. Castiel trusted neither. Dragging a leg in the ground, she limped just a little, as if the soreness was too much to hide, and Castiel knew he could use that. If he was fast enough, that was.

But he wasn’t much better. The series of tiny cuts she made into his armour had weakened him and created an overall ache that he couldn’t ignore. His swollen sword hand could barely clutch his grip properly. He knew the truth then. He didn’t have much time and he might not have enough fight left in him if she managed a deeper cut.

As lost in introspection as he was, he missed her scooping up a handful of dirt. She held it close and circled him.

“I don’t have all day, Clarence,” she taunted and he glared at her.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I could call you worse names. Light pusher, angel-face, light’s poor excuse for a soldier, the list is endless,” she continued. Castiel glared, ignoring how she prattled on as he carefully closed the distance between them. When her eyes darted away from him, he started for her and then, for a strange reason, hesitated before he could follow through. His sword hand was lifted, the blow should have carried through, but he stopped himself.

In response, Meg threw the handful of dirt into his eyes and laughed at his startled yelp. She ducked his wild flailing and grabbed his hand in hers, twisting him over her shoulder. He landed with a loud bang onto the dirt and she kicked his sword away when she saw his hand going for it. As he struggled to scrape the dirt free from his eyes, she wearily limped her way over to where she dropped her own sword. When she turned around, he was kneeling and swaying forward and back in his exhaustion. She moved fast to stop him from getting any further and she struck him hard on the mouth when he opened his lips to say something. Hitting him was like hitting a brick wall and she winced at the pain that flared up her knuckles from the impact. His head rocked to the side and his eyes blinked fast several times before he seemed to recover.

He spat out a mouthful of blood and stared at her, clearly shocked. “You cheated,” he whispered.

“Of course I did.” She stretch her one arm out as if to stroke his face and he jerked back away from her touch. “I’m a demon, remember?”

“Should have known better,” Castiel muttered to himself but the glimmer of steel distracted him. The blood-rusted sword she held was at level with his throat and he bravely rocked upward on his knees, willing to meet death head on.

“Nothing personal, Clarence. Just how it is,” Meg said and her voice actually hinted at regret. Castiel stared up at her, aware that his hesitation had cost his life.

Almost.

He wasn’t ready to let some demon of a woman end his life. Not like this.

Castiel saw the blow coming and launched himself upward, grabbing her by the wrist. He hauled forward and pulled the dagger from his boot as he moved faster than she could see. Instead of burying it in her like he’d first thought, something stalled his hand and he scraped it down the length of her sword to parry the thrust. Meg shouted something at him that he didn’t understand, and he pulled even harder. Pulled until she stumbled into his arms and he wrapped his arm around her. They collided like twin forces of nature and no matter how she fought back he was too wrapped within her for her to get free from him. Ignoring her cursing, he forced her to turn so her back was to his chest and he struggled with her until he was clasping her wrists in his hand. His other hand put the dagger to her throat and she went rigid, knowing that a single move could cost her life.

Still something stopped him and he stared at her in frustration. Her head turned and he saw how ready for death she was. But he couldn’t. Meg’s understanding dawned on her face with a brilliance that might have been from the fire glow, and he glared at her as she began to laugh.

“You can’t do it, can you?” She leaned into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, and almost crooned to him, “You can’t kill me.”

Her lips just touched his jaw, kissed the sensitive and vulnerable flesh beneath, and he only tightened his hold upon her. He didn’t trust her tricks, no matter how they made him feel.

"So what can you do, you impotent sap?" Meg whispered, her breath hot and moist against his cheek.

He didn’t answer her, because there was nothing he could say. The blade was there, drawing a faint red line on her pale throat, but he couldn’t complete the maneuver. He didn’t want to kill her and he should. He wanted to punish her but what was there to do someone who was glorying in battle like she was?

Then he thought of something a demon soldier could never understand.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered. “I’m going to do something worse.”

“This is worse?”

Ignoring her raspy chuckle, he removed the dagger and clasped her throat in his hand. He pulled her back closer, lips grazing her ear as he spoke.

“I’m granting you mercy.”

He felt her shock, her dismay, and he knew he’d surprised her. He shifted his grip on her throat, holding her for a moment longer than he needed, and then with a shove he sent her sprawling to her stomach in the fire. The black leather protected her from the flames and she rolled to face him, her eyes murderous as they pinned him from behind her curtain of wavy hair. Castiel stared back.

Neither moved for their weapons though the tension hadn’t left the air.

A blur of grey went past him and an iron-grey horse appeared behind Meg, rearing in a beautiful display. Castiel saw the rider was a grey-haired man who used the horse to block the Angel from Meg. The rider gave him a look that warned him not to move a step toward them and Castiel hefted his sword to the other hand before leaning heavily on it as crutch. Every muscle burned and ached and the small cuts Meg had left on his body were weeping through the heavy leather armour.

The rider in grey held out his hand to the girl on the ground. “Come on, Meg, we’ve lost the castle,” he ordered.

She never broke her gaze from Castiel. “We can still do it, Cain. We just need…need to regroup…” Her voice was breaking apart, as if she was too weary to manage to keep her head up. 

“You never learn, Meg.” Cain reached down and plucked her up from the ground. With a grunt, he slung her up before him on the horse. “Some battles you have to let go!” When she squirmed, he wrapped an arm tight around her waist. “Let it go, milady.”

At first Castiel could only stare before the tickle of the title started to caress his ear. Startled, he straightened up and almost instinctively bowed. “Lady?” he whispered, his eyes only on Meg. She clutched her injured arm close and glared at him, but Cain was already turning his horse away. Taking her with him and Castiel could only watch them go. For the second time since meeting her she’d left him confused and a bit in wonder of her.

Then he realized what he had done. He’d nearly killed Abaddon nobility. A move that every garrison knew was the greatest honour they could achieve. Each noble was a great threat to the Archangels. Even if she was just a lowly noblewoman, she was dangerous.

A loud roar drew his attention away to the dragon still guarding the tower. Swinging his sword left and right, he headed for the tower to finish the mission he’d come here for. It was easy to forget Meg then and he didn’t think of her once as he climbed the tower to the rack where a lone prince was still strung up. Where the prince’s brother was still fighting to live as the dragon roared and spewed flame at him. Not even when he nearly was barbecued alive himself did he waver once from the mission.

He only thought of her when he laid his hand on the Prince’s shoulder and broke him free of the shackles. When he saw the smoke and blood that clung to the tortured flesh. He thought of her and for a second, believed he saw her in the smoke rising from the ground in thick columns.

A vision made of smoke and flame.


	3. Chapter 3

_One month later…_

Hunting was a well established sport in Elysium and Dean and Sam were two of the best. It came with their duties and privileges: in exchange for their Royalty, they hunted down monsters and beasts alike to keep their citizens safe. Sometimes, like today, they hunted just for the sport of it. With a fresh kill of a wyvern roasting on the fire, the two men had camped for the evening in the middle of the vast forest called Joshua. As one polished armour, the other finished carving up the wyvern. Neither looked at one another for the longest of times, seeming more content to ignore each other than deal with the tension between them.  
  
But eventually, the youngest sat down heavily in front of his brother and glared at him.  
  
"You still look like hell."  
  
"I've felt worse." Dean continued to polish his armour, more for something to do than actual need, and looked up at Sam. He ignored the plate of meat set down in front of him. "You look like…."  
  
"I'm spending all my time worried about you. Of course I look worse." Sam took a seat across from him in the field tent. "It's not just me who's worried, Dean. People are talking. Even the Angels are talking."  
  
"Let them. I spent a month in that place." Dean stared at his polishing cloth, fingers clenching so tight that he could feel the fabric ripping.   
  
"But I… I'm fine."  
  
"You're not fine." Sam reached out and took the cloth from him. "You've got servants to do that for you.”  
  
“I like to keep my hands busy.”  
  
“And you've been sleeping with your guards on."  
  
"How'd you know that?"  
  
"I hear things," Sam said with a grin.  
  
"Knew I should have picked a quieter peasant girl," Dean muttered. “Look, Sam, if I was feeling strange, I’d let you know but I’m fine. Really.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Sam demanded and saw his brother shrug.  
  
“Good as I can be.”  
  
Shooting him a distrusting glance, Sam turned himself around and picked up the bow and arrow he’d been using before. “I think we should come out and hunt more often,” he said to change the conversation  
  
“This playing the peasant thing does something for you?” Dean asked. Since coming to the forest he’d lost his Royal accent for something more basic and comfortable, and it was comforting to hear. Since losing their parents years ago, he was all Sam had and to hear him at least sounding relaxed was a relief.  
  
“A bit. Makes me feel like we’re normal.”  
  
“Yeah well, we’re not. I’m used to it, you should be too,” Dean snapped irritably.  
  
Sam chose to ignore that. “I mean away from the royal guards, the garrisons.”  
  
“Away from the Host is enough to make any prince happy.” He suddenly lifted his head. "Right, Michael?"  
  
Sam turned to see two white horses in matching tack gliding through the brush. The two men riding, one fair and one dark, rode with the usual casual grace of angels but the stern look Dean was shot was all bodyguard. Michael took his duties seriously and Dean's disobedience in the first place had been what landed him on the torturer's table. Michael didn't seem to like Dean all that much but only because of their father was he so willing to stay as an advisor. The other man was Lucifer, who had appointed himself as the other advisor. A man Sam didn’t trust. There was something dark and seductively twisted about him.  
  
Lucifer and Michael rode together but it was the quiet man riding behind them that caught Dean’s attention. He recognized him as the one who pulled him away from Alastair before the dragon could complete a fatal bite. He was the reason Dean was free and alive today.  
But looking at Michael’s stern face he knew his bodyguard was taking the matter of Dean’s health seriously. It didn’t matter who had saved Dean’s life in the end. What mattered was making people believe that nothing had changed.  
  
"So you're almost back to normal," Lucifer said for them all as he reined in beside Sam. He gestured to the man riding just behind him."I'm sure you both remember Castiel."  
  
"Owe him my life," Dean said with a nod. "Thanks again."  
  
"Of course." Castiel dismounted and bowed to him. Dean eyed him critically. He liked to think he could read people. When Castiel had saved him there had been something rebellious about him. Something less guarded in the heat of battle. Now he stood there, like a robotic soldier.  
  
He wondered which Castiel was the real one.  
  
"The people are growing restless, sire," Lucifer said. "This is your fourth week out here. You’re hiding behind your hunter duties. Still they want to know that you're ready to take the throne in four months time."  
  
"And if I don't want it?"  
  
Michael straightened. "You don't have a choice, Dean."  
  
His curt scolding made the younger man flinch. "Yeah, I'm understanding that."  
  
"We were just talking about this. So what do we do?" Sam asked.  
  
"We need to prove that I'm not dead or lying in some corner, crying like a child?" Dean demanded as he walked towards his black horse. The mare tossed her head up and down and he patted her neck. "Easy, baby, easy."  
  
"Something to prove to the masses that you're not about to give it all up and become a hermit," Lucifer said, leaning forward. Sam shuddered at his closeness and stepped away from him.  
  
"Dean, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," he offered but his brother was already turning towards them.  
  
"Fine. Throw a ball."  
  
"A ball?" Sam and Castiel both said at the same time.  
  
"An open ball. A big massive party." Dean drew his dagger and sword out of their scabbards and turned to them, resting on his sword a little. "That should be fun, right?"  
  
Sam heard the bitterness in his voice.  
  
"Open it up to any citizen who can afford to come. Celebrate Dean's return," Michael wheedled. Lucifer nodded eagerly and Castiel wondered at the sly grin on his face.  
  
"Sire, I…" All eyes turned to him and Castiel tensed his jaw, determined not to be cowed. "Wouldn't your best resources be spent fighting the Abaddon demons? Not a ball?"  
  
Michael gave him an incredulous look but Dean was grinning. "You think?"  
  
"I mean, it just makes more sense."  
  
"We are going to war with them. Our way." He looked at Michael. "Invite an emissary. During the ball, we'll take one of them hostage for a   
time. And find out just how many of them are infiltrating the Borderlands."  
  
"Not a bad idea," Sam muttered.  
  
"If his opinion mattered, which it doesn't," Lucifer said with a murderous look at Castiel, "when should this take place?"  
  
"Give them a fortnight," Sam said and Dean nodded, patting his mare's neck.  
  
"And Lucifer? His opinion now does matter."  
  
"He's of low birth," Lucifer snarled, eyes jealous of Castiel already. Dean winked at Sam, loving how irritated the bodyguard was, and   
gestured to the still silent Castiel.  
  
"And he's becoming part of the Royal Guard. We need new blood, I think. All of you guarded my father. He'll guard me."  
  
"But that's Michael's position," Lucifer argued and Dean shot him an annoyed scowl.  
  
"And he'll now take care of the rest of you. Castiel?"  
  
"Sire?"  
  
"You're part of the Royal Guard now, Castiel." Dean nodded. "So on your knees."  
  
He blinked, instantly uncomfortable with all the attention suddenly on him. "Sire?"  
  
"I'm going to knight you." Dean looked at his shoulder where a still flaming red bruise from Castiel's tight grip was healing. "Return the   
favour, you know? A mark for a mark."

Nervously, Castiel went to his knees before the Princes and stared at the ground, his head bent. Dean walked behind him and nodded to   
Michael and Lucifer. Still grumbling that Castiel wasn't worthy, they stripped off his leather armour and linen shirt until he was bare-chested to the cold autumn air. Uncomfortable as it made him to be so naked before them, Castiel kept his eyes on the ground.  
  
And nearly screamed as the first tendrils of pain spiralled up from his shoulder blades. Dean was drawing tiny sigils on his back, wing marks of the Royal Guard. Using the tip of a dagger, he braced one hand on Castiel's neck and held him steady. When it went past his skill, he passed the dagger to Michael.  
  
Michael was not so gentle.  
  
He used a sword instead. The razor sharp edge cut harsh lines on his back, drawing indents that hurt. Indents as if he would sprout wings   
from them. The feathers, the bloody lines, all of them formed a crude tattoo of wings that sprouted from his shoulders. Castiel's hearing tunnelled and from far away he thought he heard Lucifer laughing.  
  
But the marks were there, proving his loyalty to the cause. Michael eased up the pressure and Castiel found himself rocking forward. A strange exhilaration flooded him.  
  
He was a Knight now. Not just a soldier but a Knight. On the Royal Guard.  
  
He should be proud but instead the first thing he thought of was how he could use this to hunt down that demon soldier. The one who had tormented him for days now.  
  
The one he was struggling to forget.

 

##

The quarters were dark, draped in black curtains and decorated with blood red accents. When Ruby entered, she noticed the filtered light that just lit the corners of the room and the heavy smell of incense. It coated the room with fine smoke but not enough to hide the symbols of dark magic that were all around. The room was decadent and luxurious, and somehow a little bit depressing as well. Wrinkling her small nose at the sight and smell, she threw open a curtain and sighed in pleasure at the sunlight that washed through the room.  
  
A loud groan from the other side of the room cursed her.  
  
"Someone is throwing a tantrum," Ruby said in a singsong way as she approached the bed tucked in the corner. The satin-swaddled lump muttered something at her and she laughed. "Up. Come on. You missed dinner again."  
  
Meg's voice was muffled by the sheets. "I'm not hungry."  
  
"Didn't ask you that. I've got news. If you get out of bed, I'll tell you. It would do you good to move."  
  
"I'm just tired."  
  
"You should be downstairs, tormenting Cain, not up here nursing imaginary wounds," Ruby said with a dramatic eye roll. Meg rolled to her back, the sheets parting around her, and lifted her shirt.  
  
"Imaginary?" she growled. Ruby's eyes widened at the sight of her belly. Meg's flesh was shiny and stretched taut in rough ridges over her stomach in patches. Her armour had protected her from the fire but had also heated up to an insane degree to burn her skin. Meg glared at her, her fury making her eyes black. "How is this imaginary?"  
  
"Ok, wrong words. But you can't stay here every day. We should be out, plotting Elysium's downfall and practicing with Cain."  
  
"The Legion ran, last time they invaded." Meg looked at the ceiling. "I think I've lost faith in them."  
  
"Drama queen," Ruby muttered. She smacked Meg on her sores and when the other girl yelped she dropped a heavy piece of parchment.   
"Look at that."  
  
Meg grumbled and rolled to her side before unrolling the paper. She scanned quickly and then shrugged.  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So…." Ruby drawled. "They requested an emissary from Abaddon. Someone disposable will be going. Cain most likely. If you're lucky, he'll leave you in charge. Or if he's still angry, you'll end up going."  
  
"A ball?' Meg sneered. "I'd rather eat glass."  
  
"Watch it. Alastair would make it so," Ruby muttered. Then she brightened and joined Meg on the bed, wrapping herself around her little sister. She patted her like she might a beloved cat and teasingly tweaked her cheek. "Think about it. You could ask Cain to go. They wouldn't care who you were. It's a masquerade."  
  
"Cain won't take me. It is just the Elysiums looking to show off again. I'd have to sneak in and we all know how that'll end up." Meg rolled to her stomach and Ruby tugged her closer.  
  
"You're probably right. Cain would get us beaten for disobeying him." She rubbed her still bruised jaw. "And I've already got enough bruises from him."  
  
"Could be worse," Meg said, rubbing at her shiny skin. Ruby eyed her and tilted her head to the side.  
  
"That angel really upset you, didn't he?"  
  
"No, but it is just…." Meg froze. "He'd be there, wouldn't he?"  
  
Ruby shrugged. "He saved Royalty. My bet is that he'd be promoted to the guard, like we would."  
  
"Then I should go too."  
  
"Just to see…some angel?"  
  
"Not just to see an angel. They'll be planning an attack, I know it. This is just what we need to get information."  
  
"They won't plan at a ball, stupid." Ruby rolled her eyes again. "What if…"  
  
"I want to see what they are planning," Meg repeated stubbornly.  
  
"And if they're not planning anything but some stupid party?" Ruby asked.  
  
"Then I can still have fun," Meg answered. "Maybe Cain needs a glamoured mistress to take with him."  
  
"He won't fall for it. You'll be beaten for disobeying his orders to stay in the castle. We’re not to cross him, remember?" Ruby sat up in the   
bed and scrambled to the end. "You're doing this just because of him, aren't you? He…"  
  
"I want to see what happened to that little Prince."  
  
Ruby shook her head. "If Cain sees you, you'll be whipped."  
  
Meg snapped her fingers. "Masquerade, remember? I'll just slip in with the entourage. Cain won't be going there to party, Ruby. He’ll be so   
focussed on being diplomatic that he won’t notice what happens to the rest of the emissary." She bobbed her legs in the air for a second   
with childish glee and then rolled up from the bed. "Only reason why he's invited is because they want to throw it in his face that they beat   
him."  
  
"Cain is going to be furious if you go," Ruby warned. She stood up and crossed the room to the massive oak armoire. “I was just kidding when I said you should. You’ve been moping around here for a month; I wanted to get you laughing again.”  
  
"Why don't you come?" Meg asked as she watched her go to her closet anyway.  
  
"Because I know my place. Serving the Queen," Ruby argued. "You've always been the one to rebel a little. It's going to get you killed someday. Cain's always saying so."  
  
But Meg was going through her dresser now, fishing for something. "I have nothing to wear."  
  
"You have so many dresses. You just choose not to wear them like you should be. You’re always wearing men’s clothes like some peasant." Ruby tossed out a bright red dress. "Too garish."  
  
"I'm going to make him grovel," Meg said, eyes slitted with her relish for the coming battle. Ruby nervously rummaged through her closet. She picked a dark green dress that had Meg rolling her eyes and shaking her head.  
  
"How? He didn't beg Alastair for anything more than water," Ruby pointed out.  
  
"Not him. That…that….angel." Meg tossed her head back. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

"You said yourself he tricked you in combat."

"And I owe him big time for it." She paced back and forth like a caged wild cat, her dark hair bouncing on her shoulders. "I want him on his knees, begging me to stay, begging me to kill him. I just need to think of a plan."

Ruby suddenly turned, a savage grin on her own face. "May I suggest that you try for something… sweet and dangerous?" She dangled a heavy black confection of silk and lace at Meg and saw her sister grin. A truly wicked grin that made her know the other woman knew exactly what she meant.


	4. The Masquerade

The Royal ballroom was the largest of its kind in the kingdom and led to the most massive gardens in all of the capital. Decorated with magical white lights hung from the ceiling in delicate streams, the glow about the room gave it a dreamy feel. Even with the traditional black, silver and green of Elysium colours, there was the white furniture, the white flowing draperies that floated down from the ceiling, and the smell of roses to give the ballroom an ethereal impression. 

Castiel saw none of it, with his back to the wall and his posture so erect that it was as if a sword had been struck down his spine. He'd been told to guard the doors by Lucifer and he would do it. Even though he suspected that it was only because he'd been promoted that Lucifer was treating him so badly. The ArchAngel had seemed jealous of Castiel's burgeoning friendship with Sam, let alone Dean, and that the Princes had included him in everything they had done recently had made him a target for Lucifer’s jealousy.

He’d been included in everything except for the ball. He was stuck here at the balcony, dressed in all black and silver with a traditional simple black eyemask, and feeling next to out of place.

"She could show up"  a seductive voice wheedled in his mind and he snorted. There was no question who ‘she’ was and he didn’t doubt that she would have the nerve to show up here. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they did meet again. Likely fight her again, he figured. 

Only the entourage for Abaddon was just arriving down the steps and he didn't recognize any of them. Not that he was supposed to. They all wore intricate masks, some frightening, some comical, and covering enough that he couldn't see who anyone was beyond the two leaders of the pack. Cain stuck out of course, dressed all in grey with bird-like  Medico  plague mask decorated plainly, and at his side was the Royal Advisor Crowley, dressed in blood red with a horned mask and  bauta costume. They were the only ones Castiel recognized.

He wondered which of them Dean was looking at taking hostage.

“You look like you aren’t having any fun, Cassie, and the ball is just beginning,” Balthazar’s voice rang in his ear suddenly.  He was leaning so close, too close really, and Castiel twisted on his heel. His post at the entrance to the ballroom had been a quiet one that the rest of the people were ignoring. Everyone except his fellow guard apparently. Balthazar was dressed in black as well but had stolen a ladies’ peacock mask to wear. He looked absurd but then again, Balthazar never did care what others thought of him.

“We’re here to guard the Royals, not attend the ball.”

“Oh, where is your sense of fun?” his cousin asked. “I think a good turn on the dance floor is nearly in order. After all, who is going to attack us tonight?”

“Anyone could attack. Abaddon. Their allies. Their…”

“Yes, yes, of course they can but they won’t.” Balthazar slung his arm across Castiel’s shoulders. “Why? Because we have their emissary and seven nobles with him. They fear him too much to risk losing him.”

“We should fear him too, if you want to know the truth,” Castiel muttered as he was squeezed tight. 

“So let loose. Dodge the ArchAngels and have some fun. Dance with some girls… hell, dance with some girls and boys, and enjoy yourself. That stick up your bloody arse has to loosen at some point,” Balthazar cajoled and Castiel removed his arm forcefully.

“I do just fine as I am.”

The other guard put his hands in the air. “If you say so, Cassie, if you say so. Just think on it a while, won’t you?”

Then, as if he hadn’t been posted to guard duty, Balthazar swung into step beside a young woman dressed in royal blue and began to chatter to her about her costume. All the while he winked at Castiel and mimed dancing at him.

Castiel lasted a matter of minutes before what had been said touched a raw nerve he had thought to ignore. He took several steps away from his post, glanced around to see if anyone was about to jump down his throat for leaving. No one had noticed him before and no one noticed him now. Maybe he was safe.

He was forbidden from doing more than standing guard but his curiosity and Balthazar's laughter had touched a sore spot he was trying to ignore. The others’ opinions of him shouldn’t have mattered so much but they did, especially with this new rank. He wanted to be respected but he also needed more allies. Making friends had never been his strongest suit, Uriel and Balthazar withstanding. Maybe this was a chance to show that he could be just like the other Angels: mischievous and fun-loving despite their call to duty. 

Castiel looked around, knowing he needed a better disguise than the simple mask he wore. Then he spied a man, already drunk and sleeping at a table. As subtly as possible, Castiel reached out and slipped the mask off of his face and replaced his plain mask with the more intricate silver and grey mask. It would make his plain black and silver long jacket and black trousers look more suitable, he hoped. As he tied the knot at the back of his head he wandered towards the bottom of the stairs.

Several people nodded at him, as if he belonged, and Castiel was quick to nod back and carry himself more regally than before. He belonged, he repeated to himself over and over again. This one rebellious mood of his couldn't do any real harm.

Coming down to the end of his circle of the room, Castiel took a place beside the fountain by the stairs and crossed his arms behind himself. The dancing and the bright colours made the room seem brighter than before and the press of bodies in the enclosed room made it incredibly warm. Behind his mask he could feel sweat gathering and he longed badly for a blast of cold air.

He turned at the sound of laughter from above. The entire room swam around him in a swirl of colour and luxury, a dizzying array that made him reach up to brace his hand on the closest pillar. It took him a moment to steady himself and vaguely he wondered what it was he was looking for. Who could he be looking for?

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wisp of black silk pass above him. The railing obscured his view enough that he had to lean far back to look up.

A woman was staring out over the crowd. At first he looked away, as he had for many of the women tonight, but something drew his eye back and he took her in with an increasing interest when he saw what she wore. In a room of frothy colours and patterns, she wore stark black and it made her stand out like a dark beacon to him.

Beneath the black lace mask that ran like uneven wings on her cheeks and forehead, her lips were blood red and pouting. The black gown spilled to the sides and her full skirt peeked through the iron railing. Wearing a boned corset that was decorated with black jewels that twinkled like onyx, she barely seemed to breathe. His eyes kept wandering over her and he glanced at her pale shoulders. Above the black, her shoulders were bare to the night air and kissed by soft tendrils escaping the elegant knot that trapped her long dark hair. Her bare skin was accented by thick lacing that formed wings to cradle the tops of her breasts and shoulders, with long wisps of lace trailing down her arms. It was a gown made to allure and made to draw the eye with how simple it truly was.

It was a stunning sight and Castiel knew that he was staring, though no one else seemed to notice her.

Despite the hum of the crowd, he heard her sigh and watched her her head tilt downward as she ran her fingers over the railing with soft curiosity. Watching her red nails tap an impatient rhythm, he stepped further out from the shadows of the overhang to try to see who it was. No noblewoman in her right mind would wear such black to a ball.

Then her head lowered even more, her small chin coming down first, followed by the edges of her mask and then her dark eyes, and Castiel felt hot and cold all at once. The eyes passed over him without care, dismissing him from thought, but he was riveted where he stood.

Meg. The masked woman was part of the Abaddon entourage but she was  Meg.

A thrill he tried to dismiss as survival instinct flared up his body and settled low in the pit of his stomach. With a grimace, he turned away and focussed on the dance floor again. Dean was leading a princess named Joanna from a neighbouring country in a reel, but he looked bored out of his mind. As he watched them move, Castiel fought to ignore the woman he knew was behind him. He heard a slithering sound, one that reminded him of dragons and fire, of smoke and darkness and he shuddered behind his own half-mask. Suddenly the covering felt suffocating and he desperately wanted to leave for air.

Then the slithering sound stopped and he resisted the urge to turn to see where she had gone.

The music turned to another sedate reel and Dean left the dance floor. Castiel kept his eyes on the floor to avoid being noticed as Michael passed, as always just behind Dean. He only lifted his head when he felt someone standing just beside him.

"Why do you look so bored or is that how you always look?" a husky voice whispered beside him. An arm slipped into the crook of his elbow and a curved hip pressed into his leg. Castiel closed his eyes and then opened them to meet Meg's gaze. She was smiling though it looked forced.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked. Her dark eyes seemed to dance in the firelight.

"Why….you're supposed to be with the guard, aren't you? How’d you escape?" she asked in return and he shrugged.

"Answer the question."

"Your eyes, handsome. I'd recognize them anywhere." With an insistent tug that would draw attention if he fought back, Meg pulled him after her towards the wine table. "How'd you know it was me?"

"I just… did." Castiel cleared his throat and straightened his back until he was stiff and formal as possible. "You're not easy to forget."

She paused in a step then shrugged. "I guess."

"You're here with the emissary."

"Mm…but that's our secret," she whispered, leaning conspiratorially towards his ear. Castiel turned his head, his hair brushing her forehead, and blinked in surprise at how close she was. Meg's eyes were on his and she tilted her head slightly. "Do we understand each other?"

Castiel nodded. She wouldn't out him to the others if he didn't out her.

"You're not supposed to be here, are you?" she asked.

"I was curious, that's all," he said defensively as they both accepted glasses of wine. He watched her toy with the crystal stem of her glass instead of drinking. "Why are you here?"

"Me?" She grinned, white teeth flashing between the full red lips. "I was curious."

"I think being curious would be dangerous for someone like you," he pointed out and she tilted her head back to look up at him. With a flick of her hand, she made an ebony fan appear and she wafted hot air at him. Her lips pursed a little in thought

"Someone like me?"

"A demon soldier."

"Oh Clarence, you wound me," she teased but she lacked any amusement in her voice. "That's all I am to you? I am so much more than a soldier you fought on the field."

"And defeated."

The smile fled her face. "I owe you for that."

The corner of his eyes crinkled a little in thought. "Do you?"

Suddenly she took his hand and brought it to press on her stomach. The stiff fabric and silk of her corset bit at his hands. He wasn't sure what he was feeling beneath the layers but it was clearly something that wounded her. Meg held him still and just beneath the layer of her mask her mouth parted in a snarl. "I do."

"You'd do the same to me."

She let his hand go and smiled. "Only if you ask me nicely, Clarence."

Meg turned away from him in a swirl of silk and Castiel huffed as he followed her. "That's not my name."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Tell me your name then."

"Demon soldiers aren't worth hearing angels' names," he said. The stuffy way he spoke made her wrinkle her nose as she headed for a window close to the dance floor. The draft brought in fresh air and she eagerly shoved her way past several women to suck in a lungful of the biting cold.

Castiel stood beside her and despite how erect he stood, she could see the sweat beading his upper lip from the heat in the room. He subtly leaned forward and inhaled as well. It relaxed him enough that she saw the tense lines around his rough lips disappear and his eyes brighten just a little behind the mask.

"Tell me your name," she said, pitching her voice low and seductive. Castiel turned towards her and squinted a little through the mask, as if trying to see under hers. She raised her hand, saw him flinch as if expecting a strike, and let it fall to his wrist. She smoothed her fingers across the back of his hand, skimming skin and hair as she went from wrist to the tip of his fingers.

She felt him stiffen again. Yet somehow she could sense how much he wanted her. There was something dark and hot inside him, she knew it. Maybe all he needed was for it to come out.

Bending her neck, she looked down at their hands, at how small her fingers looked between his as she interweaved their fingers together. She stroked his hand, the small webbing between his fingers, the cusp of his nails, the rough calluses that showed he carried a sword. It was a warrior's hand, she mused, and she wondered, for a fleeting second, how it would feel on her naked flesh.

Shivering, both from the thought of it and from the cool draft, Meg looked up and knew that he was thinking the same thing. She let out a low sigh and turned her hand so that they were palm to palm again.  Behind their masks, their expressions matched. Startled and wary of one another, but also wanting so much more.

"Tell me your name," she whispered, the hand on his toying with his fingers. Castiel felt the constant touch of skin on skin, a slow sensuous caress that set every nerve-ending on fire. Whether she was using magic or not wasn't something he cared about. He flexed his fingers under hers, turned his hand over, and began to rub his thumb over the creases in her palm. Her eyes trailed down his face to look at their joined hands, the moonlight from the window giving her face a gentle glow. Searing sensation diagonalled from his palm to hers, until it seemed that the heat cooled and numbed to a pleasant ache.

Each slow pass of their fingers against one another's skin felt like something more than just a caress. It felt felt like a prelude to something, something intangible yet foreshadowed as a moment he might not be ready for. A moment he suddenly wanted. His body went from pleasantly buzzed from the wine to tightly drawn and anticipating her next move.

But Meg drew her hand back from him and backed up a step. There was something hunted in her expression, as if she'd been just as struck by the electricity in that touch as he had been, but she was more masterful at hiding it. Castiel searched her masked face for a sign but she suddenly painted on a sly grin.

"Tell me your name," she repeated.

As if pulling it from deep recess within him, Castiel sighed and looked away from her before muttering, "Castiel."

She frowned. "Caseel?"

"Castiel," he said louder.

"Cast-tell?" Meg parroted, speaking slowly. 

Frustrated by both her mangling of his name and the fiery emotions she'd brought to him, Castiel nearly exploded out with "I said Castiel!"

It was loud enough that people looked over and began to whisper to one another. Flushing red, Castiel looked away and down at Meg. She was hiding her face behind her ebony fan but he saw her bare shoulders shaking hard. She was making strange sounds that were both endearing and annoying all at once. A mixture of a hiccup, a giggle and an obnoxious laugh.

"That wasn't funny."

"Oh it was to me." Her eyes brightened. "Lighten up, Castiel."

He continued to grumble that it wasn’t dignified.

But she turned and saw something that made her pale behind her mask. The dance floor was slowly filling up and she recognized the postures of the dancers. The entourage was moving; she knew that most of them were just waiting to leave at midnight. But what caught her attention was how close Crowley and Cain were to her. 

She needed somewhere to hide and the dance floor was her best option.

Fixing her skirts, she took Castiel's hand again and despite his resistance dragged him towards the floor.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, tugging back hard on his hand. Meg looked over her shoulder at him and plastered a coy smile to her lips. 

"Do you dance?" she asked and he shrugged.

"I am aware of how to do that. When the occasion calls for it."

Her eyes were on Cain's striding figure headed straight for them. "Trust me, it calls for it." Her head crooked to the side. "Or do you want them to know you're out here with me?" Her fingers interlaced with his in a teasing caress and then she was turning around him, headed for the crowded floor where they would be missed.

Castiel heard the violin’s tune playing and exhaled. He didn't like to dance in such a crowd but Meg was clearly threatening to expose him if she was exposed. Gently nudging another man out of his way, he followed Meg to the floor. She positioned him roughly where she wanted him in line with the other men, and then retreated back to the women.

It made him nervous to feels the eyes of others on him but he focussed hard on Meg and where she stood just across from him. She curtseyed so deeply he was able to see the hollow between her breasts and he caught his breath. A low whistle from the man beside him made him turn his head and glare, but the other men were already bowing. He hurriedly made the same salute and stood to see Meg hiding her laughter behind a hand. She was laughing too much at him, Castiel thought, but even he had to smile when she was late to keep in step with the other women. 

It was a dance he knew, having danced it several times before when his sister had forced him to take her to the floor, but there was something more charged about it when dancing with his enemy. Meg stepped in towards him, swaying with each step, and made a pass around him, one hand taking his arm and lifting it before dropping it away. He remembered to catch her hand in his and follow her, though she didn't make it easy.

She spun on her heel and dropped into a second curtsey before rising and holding out her arm. Castiel took it and spun her outward. He drew her close again and tucked one arm behind his back as they followed another couple in a circle.

"So you can dance," Meg whispered so that even with the hum of the crowd he could hear her. They pirouetted a step together.

"Like I said. When the occasion calls for it, I can dance." He looked down between them at his feet as if expecting them to misbehave. Then the hand on her waist curved slightly to draw her closer as they passed another couple.

She swayed left to his right feint and he caught her by the waist, mimicking the actions of the other men. Meg's hand came up to cradle his cheek, edging just beneath his mask, and her lips just brushed his before she spun away, her skirts a black flame around her. The women on the left of the room, men on the right, she stuck out amongst the butterfly-like colours of their costumes and he knew that his own dark clothing mimicked hers perfectly. 

They came together again and he raised his thigh beneath her to bounce her in the air and then bring her down in a swirl against him. They did it three times more and through the fabric of her corset he thought he could feel her exhilaration when he lifted her again. She swivelled in his arms when he set her down, her body dragging against his sensually, and both arms lifted before she clapped once. 

Then her arms fell to his shoulders and she dragged the rest of her way down his body. He felt both her hands this time, cupping his face and her face loomed in his vision as warm and moist air wafted over his mouth. Then she took his hands in hers and let him twist her about. Castiel checked to see what the others were doing before he grasped her beneath the edge of her corset and pulled her back into him forcefully. His nose buried in the tendrils just hanging from her ebony comb, he inhaled a scent of smoke and roses so sharp that it stunned his senses. Her head turned slightly to the side and he caught her gaze. The heat in it was enough to make him let her go, only to catch her wrist and twirl her back into his arms.

Arms raising above her head, Meg copied the motions of the other women, clapped her hands together, and raised a knee to swirl her skirts as she dropped beneath his arm. Her body brushed up against his and Castiel rocked into her, arm wrapping around her waist to hold her. The other hand pulled her arm towards her opposite shoulder, and his palm rested on the damp bare skin. They both paused for a moment, his nose just brushing her ear as his lips touched her cheek. Meg closed her eyes, found herself again, and turned in his arms. Copying the quick movements of the others, she snapped her fan open. Shielding her face, she leaned in and brushed her mouth against his again, hard enough that he felt the pressure. Only this time he stayed still for a moment and let the touch of her lips graze his.  The music was dropping to an end and he delayed his next move for as long as he could.

Then the hand around her waist turned her outward with the other dancers and she spun towards them.

Before she could get to the line, Castiel grabbed her arm and pulled her back into him. Like the other men he bowed low over her hand and pressed a kiss to her hand. Unlike the others, he held the grip for longer than a second, let his lips linger on the silken skin.

Then he dropped her hand and turned away, back into the crowd. Meg stared after him, stunned by the abrupt end of their dance. The burning on her skin made her look down to see his scruffy chin had marked her pale hand. It made her uncomfortable just to think of it and she quickly wiped away his kiss.   
#

Across the ballroom, Castiel came to the first table of wine that was available and quickly downed two glasses to calm his nerves and raging heartbeat. What the hell had that been about? He turned and watched as Meg made her lonely way through the crowd, going the opposite way.

He felt strange — as if feeling for the first time — and he wasn't sure which emotion it was that hurt the most. Guilt, shame, desire, need… they all jumbled within him in a confusing heap. Snagging yet another glass of wine, he leaned against the top rail to watch the dancers. He was determined to put her from his mind yet it seemed like she wouldn't leave.

Without thinking, he watched Dean dance instead, keeping a careful half-watch on where Cain and his followers stood in a sullen group. Sam was the only one of them who made an effort to talk to any from Abaddon and he appeared to be winning Cain over. 

To what, Castiel couldn't be sure.

A sudden presence at his elbow made him stiffen, half-expecting Meg again. But this woman was dressed in dark green with her hair done up in elegant red coils. Her mask had been pushed back onto her forehead and she was staring at him closely.

"You're not supposed to be here, Castiel," Anna said. "Least of all dancing." She chuckled. "Though you can dance. Who knew?"

"Anna," he greeted, not wanting to be baited into confessing anything.

"Who was she?" Anna asked him and he turned to her before shrugging.

"No one. Just a noble." Technically not a lie. 

"Well, you danced well for someone who isn't supposed to be here."

He looked at his feet. "Will you give me away?"

"No." She laughed. "You deserve to have some fun, Castiel. A ball is the best way to."

"She said the same thing," he muttered.

"So she's very smart if we agree," Anna teased. "But don't worry about seeming rude by leaving her. It looks like Lord Lucifer is about to make his move," she said with a conspiratorial wink.

Castiel's head lifted and whipped to the left to see Meg moving on the dance floor with Lucifer. Cooling his temper, he shrugged and took another long drink. "People can dance with whoever they choose," he said.

Anna gave him a knowing look from behind her ivory mask.  "Of course they should." She tossed back her own drink and took his hand. "Come on. You owe me and I'm going to introduce you to some diplomats. The ones who will be very interested in how you and Sam sent that dragon running with his tail between his legs."

#

Meg was aware that she was being watched as she let the tall blonde man lead her in the reel. 

"You seem familiar," he said in a seductively soft voice. 

Where Castiel thrilled her, this man frightened her and that was part of the attraction she knew. The way his hand gripped hers, with a warning in the soft squeeze, made her hesitate to let him go.

"Just a girl looking for a party," she said with a smile before dropping her hand from his and taking a turn to the left. When they re-met on the other side of Dean and his partner, the blonde man was staring down at her again.

"Have you ever been to the Borderlands?" he asked as he took her hand, stepped in, and then inappropriately slipped his hand down her bare back. Meg shivered at the cold of his hands and stepped right as he stepped left before they went palm to palm.

"Never," she lied.

He chuckled and his head ducked close to her ear. "Liar," he whispered and then spun her left so that she partnered the next man left.

Dean.

He danced in complete silence compared to the man who'd called himself Lucifer. Meg was aware of how threatening he was as he stared at her and she was sure to keep her eyes downcast.

She was treading on dangerous ground now. The deeper she went, the less likely it was that she'd escape with her throat intact. 

Then she was passed back to Lucifer and listening to his murmured words of who he was and she realized he was more than a little drunk. She only half-listened, her eyes searching the crowd.

Castiel stood against the railing above with a red-headed beauty, his arms resting and leaning. He looked like he was laughing.

Meg ground her teeth together and turned to see Lucifer looking at her again. Clearly expecting to continue his dance with her. Putting her chin in the air, Meg met him at the centre, taking both his hands in hers. They did a hop-skip from side to side and he swivelled her in his arms.

"You're not like the rest of your Abaddon friends," he breathed against his ear. He held onto her, ignoring the jostling of the other raucous dancers. "You’re a rebel. I think you're playing with fire."

"Getting burned is half the fun," Meg taunted and he turned her about, cupping her cheeks in his hands. He suddenly smiled, smoothing his thumbs down her cheeks. 

"Must be." He rubbed just below the edge of her mask. "So dark and beautiful."

Meg felt momentarily struck by him. Few Elysium men had ever looked at her as an Abaddon woman and desired the darkness before. The darkness that was all she was. Whatever had passed between her and Castiel had fired her up and she swayed towards Lucifer unconsciously.

The music halted abruptly and he stepped backward, bowing to her. Rattled, Meg managed a curtsey in return and retreated.   

That was twice that she had danced and had let others get under her carefully built armour. For different reasons. Lucifer had resonated with power and promise. He'd hurt her and capture her, the way someone would capture a wild animal for a trophy. What terrified Meg was that she had seen him moving through the crowd and realized she wasn't the only woman affected, not to mention several of the men. That she was like the others, so willing to be reduced to a trophy, was a terror she felt deep within when she'd fought for so long to be treated as different.

Then there was…him.

Castiel had been different and she still wasn't sure why. She had promised herself to bring him to heel but whatever had sparked between them had been brilliant and devastating all at once. She had felt it and he had felt it as well. Yet he didn't look at her like Lucifer had. He looked at her as if… as if ….

Meg shook her head. She'd had too much wine, she decided, ignoring the fact that she hadn't touched it since her first glass. But there was never too much when she was feeling as confused as she was. Pushing her way through the crowd she accepted a glass filled to the brim with red wine before making her careful way to the windows again.

 #

She deflected dances after that disastrous one with Lucifer and retreated into the shadows, trying to pick up tidbits here and there. Dressed in black though she stood out and few people wanted to make conversation with someone who had bucked off the conformity of society.

What she did hear was nothing surprising. The Abaddon emissary was being ignored and treated like dirt under a heel. The women had already been investigated, the men kept under watch. It didn't surprise her that someone had been taken hostage though she wasn’t sure who. It was how these angel soldiers operated; Cain would have to give them up, surrounded as he was. No wonder his entourage was full of low level nobility.

Except for her, of course. But she was doing well in dodging him. Crowley was another story. The Advisor would be on her back soon if she didn't find a distraction. She already knew he’d suspected who she was though she’d used a hefty dose of magic to hide her features from him and Cain.

"There you are," a finely accented voice purred and Meg turned abruptly to see another blonde in a peacock mask smiling down at her. "A beautiful bird like you shouldn't be hiding in the dark."

"Maybe I like the dark." She turned back to her drink and downed it. 

"Then I'll stay with you," he said, leaning up on the wall bedside her. "So both of us aren't alone."

Tired of it, Meg turned to him. "If you don't leave, I'll…"

"Balthazar?" Castiel's gravelly voice made Meg stiffen up. "Enough." He passed Meg and looked at his brother-in-arms. "You're drunk."

"Just a wee…" Balthazar grinned at Meg, "bit."

"Besides. This is our dance." Castiel turned to Meg and held out his hand.

She stared at him from behind the safety of her mask. "It is?"

He gave her a meaningful scowl and a head jerk to the left. Cain and the others were moving through the crowd.

"Lucifer is going to have your ass when he finds out you're dancing like nobility like this," Balthazar said cheerfully and Castiel took Meg's hand in his, gently laying it on his forearm.

"Not if you don't tell him. It was your idea, remember?"

"And why won't I tell him?"

"Because if you don't, I won't tell him you disappeared with Lady Jodilyn." Castiel jerked his chin to where a lone woman was swaying to her own beat in her head. The pretty brunette did look lonely. Instantly distracted, not just by her face but by the diamond she wore at her throat, Balthazar left them alone.

Meg removed her hand from Castiel's arm. "You're free to go."

"Go where?" he asked, sounding more amused than relieved.

"Wherever it is you come from."

"But we haven't had our dance yet."

"Yes we did and it…it…." Meg tried to think of a descriptive word for it. "I don't want to dance with you."

"I thought you didn't want to make a…scene…." Castiel threatened his eyes on the crowd. Crowley was making his way towards them, searching for something, and Meg stepped back to hide around him.

"What do you need to be distracted for?" she demanded and Castiel shrugged.

"Maybe I just want to dance with you."

She tossed her head. "One wasn't enough?"

He took her hand and placed it back on his forearm. "You're not scared you'll be found dancing with an Angel soldier, are you?"

When he looked down at her, her eyes were sparkling with barely concealed anger at his challenge. But her fingers tightened on his arm and she let him lead her onto the dance floor. This time he set them up for the dance, positioning her arm just so on his shoulder, aligning their bodies perfectly before clasping her right hand in his left. He executed it all so formally that Meg was startled into simply following his lead.

His hand slid to the small of her back first, then to the cusp of her waist. Meg stepped into him and let him lead her through the slow methodical steps of the waltz. While around them couples spun and laughed, she was only aware of how intently he was staring at her from behind the impassive shadow of his own mask.

Meg tightened her fingers about his and let him turn her with him.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked when the silence between their turns became too much. He said nothing to her, just led her around the floor in silence. The hand on the small of her back brought her in closer to avoid another couple dancing too close and Meg slid her arm higher on his shoulder, until they were pressed body to body.

"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?" she asked suddenly.

He paused mid-step, then resumed following her around the floor in the slow sway of the dance. "I don't know.”

“Everyone else avoids us. But you? You keep dancing with a demon soldier.” Meg let him pirouette her to the left again and then draw her close.

“Maybe I find you interesting.” He shrugged a shoulders. “When you’re not trying to kill me.”

His words brought a flush of something unstable and raw down her body and it made her draw back a step. Castiel’s grip tightened to hold her steady but Meg kept herself at as much distance as she could get. He tilted his head absurdly at her and she was aware of the strength of his hand holding hers.

“Maybe things are just easier if we keep them how they should be,” Meg said.

“Should be?”

      “Should be.” She removed her hand from his and this time took several steps backward. “We’re enemies. I’m bad, you are on the side of good. How it should be.”

      Castiel stared at her. “You felt it too...” he whispered and she smirked.

      “I felt a sad excuse for an Angel soldier getting all hard and soft on me. That’s all.” She gathered her skirts in her hand. “Thanks for the dance, Clarence. Now leave me alone.”

     In a swirl of black silk and lace, she picked up her skirts and fled the dance floor. She disappeared into the crowd, headed for the massive glass doors leading out into the gardens. The other dancers, startled by how fast she had moved, parted in a group around her partner. All Castiel could do was stare after her, while he stood alone on the dance floor long after the music stopped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustrated by her dances with Castiel and Lucifer, Meg flees the ballroom, risking consequence if Cain or Crowley catches her. Deep in the hedge-maze, she finds herself finally starting to relax, until she realizes she isn’t alone

He was trouble. More trouble than he was worth. The sort of problem she would have undone with a sword thrust if she could have. But Meg knew that Castiel wouldn’t be easily dismissed.

Or forgotten.

Damn him.

She’d not expected a dance to be such hell on her nerves. That he had actually wanted to dance with her had been stranger still and she had pulled away before she did something stupid. Lucifer might have shaken her up but Castiel had toppled her over the edge into a confused myriad of emotions. She hadn’t expected to want something so badly as to…to… feel. Emotions she had forgotten she could feel. So she had run, for lack of a better word, though she would always deny it if anyone ever figured out she was here. Castiel was a problem. She had come here to discover if there was any plans against Abaddon, not dance and be caught up in some stupid girl crush. 

Meg shuddered. That’s all it was. She was fascinated by him and his ridiculously naive manner. People weren’t innocent in Abaddon.

Escaping into the garden had been easy. There were crowds ten people deep on all sides of the ballroom. He’d have to fight his way to follow her and Meg doubted he would. His interest in her was a passing one and she saw how he looked at other nobles in the room. He might find her interesting but she doubted she was that interesting to him. With any luck she could pass the time alone until they had to leave, then slip in unnoticed back into the entourage. No harm done.

Swirling her skirts around her legs as she passed by a couple on the balcony, Meg walked into the gardens’ atrium and reached up to remove her mask from her face. Outside it was refreshingly cold enough to relieve the heat from the ballroom and she inhaled the fragrances of roses of all kinds. The cool air blasted her face and she sighed in relief, not even caring how it sent a chill down her sweat damp skin. It felt so good to be out of that confining space with all those staring eyes.

A low moan close-by made her turn her head and jump a few inches left. But the two men entangled in one another didn’t seem to notice her. One had notched the other up into the door frame and had him pinned there, hands roaming over his body in hungry possessive strokes. They were murmuring to one another, words that would have made another woman blush though Meg only watched for a few seconds longer than she should have. She squinted through the dark shadows to see one make a fierce turn that pinned the other up against the wall face first. Meg backed away, recognizing one as the soldier that had greeted the entourage earlier and the other was a tall, dark soldier who wore the trappings of rank. An Arch.

An Arch who would kill her, she didn’t doubt, if he saw her here. Though he seemed to be wrapped up in his partner and the mock struggle they were having before he flattened him against the wall and began to kiss the back of his neck. The sight was so strange to Meg; she’d thought that soldiers, especially the angels, of Elysium were celibate. Something about the laws of being a soldier or something like that.

Staggering backward, Meg pressed into the closest alcove and then scooted down the back stairs that led into the gardens. Her satin slippers snagged on the marble and with a muffled curse she kicked them off into the grass. Even though they were of the finest money could buy, it relieved the ache in her feet and she almost curled her toes with delight into the grass. Nudging the slippers into a heap at the bottom of the steps, she stretched her arms up into the sky and inhaled deeply. The garden’s thick rose bushes had all been painted silver for the ball and she could smell the mixture of paint and rose in the air, an undercurrent that tickled her nose. Meg turned her attention around her and

Satisfied that she was alone, she gathered her skirts in a hand and jogged as quickly as she could towards the hedge maze. Maybe if she lost herself for an hour or two, then the time would fly by and she would be able to leave before she lost more of her hard-won control over herself. The hedge-maze seemed to be the perfect place. It rose high and she knew from rumours that it ran towards the man-made lake that circled the Elysium palace. The twists and turns of the maze consumed her and she nearly broke into a run when she spotted the centre of the maze. Maybe here she could find some badly needed solitude.

Only it, like the shadows of the garden balcony, was occupied. A tiny blonde woman was sprawled on the bench there, kissing a man who covered her completely. Her moans were soft, and she kept murmuring a name as she clung to the short hair of the man. It was obvious what was happening, even in the shadows.

“Hell,” Meg whispered as she pressed back into the hedge to avoid being scene. “Does everyone in Elysium get this way at balls?”

Then she nearly laughed in relief. So it wasn’t just her. Maybe there was something in the wine. Smirking, she peeked out and then put her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle. Apparently it was the Prince, Dean, who had abandoned the ball in favour of seducing some Elysium noblewoman. Meg knew that if he saw her, unmasked like this, he’d recognize her. The thought sobered her as much as her realization that she hadn’t had that much wine and neither had Castiel as she recalled.

Damn.

With one last look at Dean, only to see him drawing the woman up off the bench, she jogged around the corner and disappeared deeper into the maze. This time she ran blindly, not sure what she was searching for as she ran her fingers through the lush foliage. Meg let her toes dig into the soil path and looked over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure why but she had the strangest feeling that she was being followed.

She shook her head. Out here in the silence she was letting herself get spooked and there was no reason for it. She was safe unless Cain had figured out she was here and the only person she had to fear of giving her up would be Crowley. And how he would jump on the chance to do that to her. There was no love lost between them, not since she’d gotten him demoted just earlier this year. Cain didn’t care for him at all but Azazel liked the weasel. Nevermind that she didn’t like him; Meg knew Crowley was dangerous.

“Don’t think about it,” she told herself. “You’ve only got another hour before you get to leave.”

Letting one hand trail in the leaves of the hedge, she followed the maze’s deeper trails until she came to a small shadowy corner tucked within a gazebo. The white marble stuck out amongst the foliage but it was quiet and secluded, overlooking to the man-made lake at the outer edges of the maze. With one last look from side to side to make sure she was indeed alone, Meg gathered her skirts up and sat, cursing the voluminous fabric when it made it difficult to lean backward and rest.

Meg looked over the crystalline water and decided that this might have been the worst plan she’d come up with in years. It wasn’t going to actual plan, that was the problem, she figured. That stupid angel had interfered with her. Again. She ground her teeth together and lifted her hand. With a savage exercise of magic she cracked one of the gazebo pillars.

What she wouldn’t give to fight someone. Just to take out this weird feeling gathering at the bottom of her stomach.

Suddenly it felt like she had too much energy to move and Meg stood to pace around the small interior of the gazebo. The entourage would leave at midnight, she remembered that much, and she had better be with them or she’d be stuck here until someone realized just who had been left behind. Now the last place she wanted to be was here and midnight couldn’t come fast enough. She walked towards the other side of the gazebo, grabbed a rose off the vine and hissed when the thorn pricked her fingers. Furiously she tore the flower to pieces.

She was staring at the scattered remains when she felt it. A slow drag of sensation up her spine. It tingled and pressed against the back of her head, triggering a chain reaction down the backs of her arms and across her bare shoulders. The weird feeling in the pit of her stomach blossomed to unrecognizable heat. Something told Meg that she was being watched and with a flourish of silk and lace she whirled on her heel to face him.

Castiel stood just behind her, still wearing his mask and resting one hand behind his back. In his other hand, her slippers dangled like twin jewels, sparkling a little in the moonlight. He had moved so quietly that she wasn’t sure how long he’d been following her for. His mask blocked his eyes just enough that she couldn’t tell his expression but then he tilted his head and she saw the sparkle in his eyes.

Moving so slowly that it seemed to be in slow motion, Castiel moved a step and immediately she backed off a step from him. Only to find the gazebo’s pillar at her back, blocking her from escape. Something in his gaze, in the firm set to his mouth, made her nervous, and she licked her lower lip in reaction. He closed the rest of the distance between them, went to say something and then seemed to think better of it. His mouth closed with an audible click and he merely stared at her, letting the slippers drop to the ground.

Aware that she was oddly self-conscious — a feeling she wasn’t familiar with— Meg went to replace her mask over her eyes. She needed its protection from that blue-eyed gaze but just as it met the bridge of her nose he reached out, taking her hand to stop her. Castiel’s fingers curled around her wrist, drifted up to her palm and then to her hand, and he squeezed just hard enough that she dropped the mask to the ground in reaction. His fingers slid down her palm until his hand was flat to hers and then his head lowered a little, until she felt the faintest touch of his mask on her cheek. His breath brushed over the side of her neck, drifting and she closed her eyes a little to enjoy the warm drifting sensation. She felt when he licked his dry lips, felt how he inhaled deeply. When he tugged her forward she nearly tripped into his arms, her body aligning with his until she was pressed to him. Castiel held her steady, his eyes searching her face, and she stared back.

“What are you…” she started to say then shook her head. “Nevermind.”

Castiel stared down at her, not saying a word.

“Did you follow me all the way out here?” she asked and he shrugged.

“You left in a hurry. I was…concerned.”

“About little me?” Meg sneered. “I can take care of,…”

Her head turned and he met her with a kiss, undoing the brief moment of calm that had passed between them. Before she could catch her breath suddenly the kiss turned voracious and consuming as he took a handful of her hair and pulled until her head tipped back and she stepped into him. Groaning, Meg moved up into his body and splayed her fingers across his chest and up to his face.

The ridge of his mask kept bumping her nose and angrily she reached up and removed it with a quick twist of her fingers. When she dropped it to the ground the delicate ceramic shattered. She heard his startled murmur but didn’t care as she went back for more. Castiel’s hands were roaming over her body with solid, possessive passes as he kissed her, the stubble on his jaw rasping against her skin. His lower lip caught between her teeth and she bit just hard enough to hear him groan. His tongue swept into her mouth and caressed the insides of her cheek, causing her to gasp and open her mouth wider. When his arms closed around her body in a tight hold, Meg brought both arms up to wrap around his shoulders and let him lift her a little. He didn’t stop kissing her until her back hit the pillar and even then he only stopped long enough to catch his breath.

Diving her fingers into his hair, Meg pulled him back down for another. His lips were rough against hers but warm and moist from the force of their kisses. Each breath he took skated over her skin and she found herself lifting her one leg to hook around his waist as best as she could through the thick skirts. Eventually though he managed to pull back just a little.

“We…should…stop….” Castiel whispered between kisses. Meg shook her head and squeezed her leg against his hip so she could feel him pressing up between her legs.

“No talking,” She said before forcing his head to tilt so she could lick and bite at his throat. “It’s just for one night.”

“One night,” he repeated before he reached between them and touched her bare shoulders. Meg shivered at the feeling and reached up to guide him where she wanted him. Castiel hesitated at first, fingers drawing circles that drifted like fire and ice over her cool skin, but then he was kissing her again, so deeply that she could barely breathe as she tilted her head back and took his lips and tongue as fiercely as he took hers.

Blindly, Castiel’s fingers unlaced her corset by several loops and she began to breathe easier at the release of pressure. The fingers then trailed through the open loops and hooks, finding patches of skin to touch as he unravelled the laces. The corset fell apart from her breasts and the relief from the confinement made her moan. His mouth never left her skin, only parting long enough to bend and press an open-mouthed kiss to her collar bone that made her hiss in a breath. Then he came back to her, tongue sliding into her mouth and hands going to cup her breasts as he rolled his thumbs over her nipples. Every move echoed her own; hurried, unpracticed and seductively desperate.

Meg found his need as intoxicating as the wine she’d had earlier. He tasted so strongly of that wine that she lapped at his tongue with her own as if wanting to sip it from his mouth, and then raked her teeth over his tongue gently. Groaning, he pulled back just a little and stared at her in surprise.

Then the hand on her breast reached to twist an escaped tendril of her hair around his two fingers and he tugged so hard that she gasped and rocked forward into him.

“It’s just one night,” he muttered against her mouth before kissing her. Heat and sweetness seemed to fill her again and she had the feeling of something cleansing her from the inside out. An impossible feeling but she moved up onto her toes as she reached down to undo his shirt laces so she could touch bare skin. Pressing into her, Castiel shrugged out of his black coat and let it fall in a heap atop her shoes. With his shirt undone, Meg bent to bite and lick at his shoulder, desperate for more contact than he was giving her. The urgency she felt she knew was because of all the teasing beforehand and she didn’t care how it made her seem to be out here with him like this.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered against his collarbone before kissing him. Castiel groaned and tugged hard on her hair once more before releasing her. She nearly whimpered in relief as he reached between them and loosened his trousers. He moaned at the release of them and then brought his hands back up to cup and caress her breasts.

The pillar felt like it was roughing up her shoulders but she didn’t care. His mouth was wonderful. Whatever skill he did have it was there in the warmth of his mouth. The peeled down bits of corset hung loosely on her arms and as he drew it further down his head bent before he took a hard nipple into his mouth.

Meg moaned and rolled her head back against the pillar, opening her eyes to look at the night sky through the garden trellis overhead. Below her, Castiel was moaning against her breast, drawing hard on the nipple so that she cried out before he turned to the other. Even as he nipped and sucked, his fingers trailed down the smooth slope of her belly. Her heavy skirts stopped him and Meg quickly ducked to help pull them up, with her mouth finding his. She tasted her own perfume on his lips and Castiel breathed into her, his trembling hands searching up her legs as he raised her skirts to her waist.

The smooth expanse of skin now exposed seemed to baffle him a little and Meg reached down to lead his hand between her legs. He murmured something nonsensical at the feel of how hot she was and ran his fingers gently through the moist folds. The touch of those calloused fingers stroking through her wetness made her grind her teeth together and throw her head back, struggling not to moan.

Castiel watched her every reaction, fascinated by what he saw. He stroked back and forth, dipping his fingers inside her now and then just to hear the low sounds she made when he touched her. He had never envisioned being with some Abaddonian soldier like this or even just an Elysium woman. Pinned up against a gazebo pillar and still dressed, groping like teenagers at their first ball.

It made his head spin a little. Judging by how she moaned when he slid his fingers deeper inside of her, she agreed.

Meg stroked his chest, fingers dipping against his hipbones and scratching their way up his abdomen. He went to stop her and she shook her head, giving him a coy smile that took his breath away. She reached between them and took hold of his cock, her head bending to watch her own hand. Castiel watched her even as his own body started to shudder and  his hips began to pump and follow the lead of her hand. The relief her hand brought him made his own hands slip free to brace on the pillar behind her. Meg muttered something, something he couldn’t hear, and then lifted her head. She took his lower lip between her teeth and pulled roughly, so that he tasted blood and wasn’t sure whose it was. He bit back and grabbed her hands away from his cock, and she draped them over his shoulders instead.

Her thighs came up around his hips and he grabbed her beneath her buttocks to lift her up. She hit the pillar hard and growled, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling on his hair just hard enough that his head tipped back. He rolled his hips forward and she let him go, hands falling to his shoulders again and her nails digging through his linen and leather shirt.

Meg braced herself for what was next and let him move her how he wanted her. He was whispering to her, nonsensical words of desire and need, and she felt his hand stroking between her buttocks where he held her. Each stroke jolted her and she rested her forehead against his as he breathed out. Then he was moving again and she clutched him tighter to her.

When he entered her he felt her entire body clench up and release. “Did you…” he began and she whimpered, catching his mouth with a sharp bite to his lower lip. Her dark eyes, once so stoic and cold, appeared alive when he looked into them, and he groaned as warm, wet heat clasped his cock. She was so tight. The dancing flecks of flame in her eyes ensnared him and he leaned into her, pressing a kiss to her mouth that let her know what he wanted from her.

Meg returned the kiss fiercely, her thighs clenched around his hips so tightly that he could barely breathe. Her tongue stroked against his, her fingers dug into the back of his neck. He began to thrust in short, staccato movements, and heard her whimper when it came too fast. She ripped her mouth away and pressed it to his neck, holding on.

Castiel felt her hand slip down between them to rub at her clit and he dug his hands into her buttocks to lift her up and down on his cock. Meg moved herself with his thrusts, fingers moving faster even as her mouth latched on his neck. She licked and nipped at him, her eyes squeezing shut as she found his earlobe next. She made muffled moans in his ear, whispering to him.

“Angel, don’t stop. Just…don’t stop,” she said. “Harder.”

Groaning, he lifted one hand from her buttocks and slammed it into the pillar, needing to find some way of exploding out the desire he felt. Meg bucked her hips impatiently and he surged upward, giving her a brutal thrust that made her cry out again. Wanting to hear it again, Castiel held her tighter and used his grip on the pillar to drag them tighter together.

“I didn’t expect…” he managed just before his knees buckled and sent them down to the ground. She moaned as she widened her legs around his hips and settled down onto his lap. Meg recovered just enough to laugh.

“I think you like this, Clarence.”

He grasped her jaw in his free hand and held her still so he could look into her eyes. “You know my name. Say it.”

She shifted her head so she could take his thumb in her mouth. Gently she sucked and watched his eyes become heavy-lidded as he watched her suck. When she released him, she leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his so she could breathe in his ear. “Castiel.”

He groaned at the way she said his name, all sultry and seductive, and began to move again, lifting her up and down on him. Breasts touching his chest, Meg’s hands moved teasingly between them, stroking his abdomen as well while her lips trailed along his jaw. She kept repeating his name in that same voice, knowing what it did to him, feeling what it did to him.

Suddenly his hands grasped hers and he thrust them overhead, pinning them to the pillar behind her just as he drove harder into her. Meg cried out against his shoulder, her hair escaping the ebony comb to hang in ropey tendrils around them. It took only another thrust and then he felt her body clench up and release in a hard flutter around his own body. Burying his face in her hair, Castiel pressed closer and let her use his body as she came. Then he felt her teeth against his ear, her tongue as she licked her lips, and he shuddered. It was just enough for his own orgasm to chase over him and he let go of her hands to clutch her even tighter, needing her in that moment.

When he came he was filled with the scent of her and knew he would never smell roses or smoke the same again. Knew he’d always be reminded of her. Meg’s moans were deep and throaty in his ear, her breath panting out in hot wafts of air. But the entire time he stayed deep inside her, still twitching, still throbbing. The only thing that seemed to matter was staying as close to her as possible.

When he let her hands go her arms fell limp to his shoulders. Her head was low on his shoulder and he let himself fall forward into her body. The uncomfortable pose didn’t deter him from touching her as aftershocks tore through his body and he knew by the way she shivered she felt the same. His fingers traced the curve of her spine and he moved onto his buttocks, not minding the cold as he drew her into the warmth of his body.

They stayed that way for a time, Castiel holding her and Meg curled into his body like a cat seeking warmth. He stroked her back and kissed the curve of her shoulder and neck, stopping only long enough shift himself on the ground. Then he was touching her again, breathing in her scent and whispering nonsense. He felt her body relaxing with each stroke and he nuzzled her ear before resting his forehead on her shoulder.

Her body hummed with throbbing desire, newly sated and still hot. She couldn’t stop herself from shivering with delight whenever his fingers touched her skin. She hadn’t expected to react like this to a man, let alone an Elysium angel. Meg pressed her mouth against the ridge of his neck, tasting sweat and salt, and sighed. She was surprised how good it felt to lie still like this. His own head rested on her shoulder and she felt each gentle inhale and exhale as his breathing finally calmed down.

It was terrible, she realized, to think of how willing she was to stay like this.

She heard the faint bong-bong of a distant watchtower and opened her eyes. It cut through her aftershocks, through the afterglow of sex, and made her realize that she was vulnerable out here. Sooner or later, the magic of Abaddon would pull her to them.

Feeling the tension through her, Castiel turned his head and looked in her eyes. Whatever he saw cause him to pull back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, before reaching out to thumb a dark tendril. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, then her cheek, then her neck, and Meg closed her eyes to enjoy the caresses. Only the clock still bonged impatiently and she opened her eyes again to stare at the full moon. It was high in the sky and she knew what it meant.  Realizing that the magic that ensured all who came with Crowley and Cain returned to Abaddon was starting to ensnare her, she gave a muted moan and pushed him off.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?”

“I just do,” she whispered, gathering her corset and skirts. Castiel fixed his own clothing first, leaving his shirt undone though he buckled his trousers again, and then knelt beside her as she frustratingly fought with tugging the corset back up her arms.

A slow clap filled the air with a smug chuckling voice saying, “Well, well, well.”

The man who came through the shrubs was dressed in red with a horned mask pushed back from his bearded face. Handsome in a strange way, above his sly grin his eyes glimmered red and Castiel knew what that meant. This was a sorcerer for Azazel.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, aware of Meg trying to get dressed behind him.

“I’m with the entourage. I’m sure you’ve seen me, angelface.” He gave a sharp bow. “Crowley. The better question is what are you doing here?”

Castiel swallowed, knowing what that meant. This was the Royal Advisor. But why was he so interested in what was happening? Maybe it was just for the sheer gossip of it. Crowley’s eyes matched the leer on his face as he stared openly at Meg’s bare skin. She clutched the corset to her chest and fumbled with the laces, cursing herself as she fought to get them hooked properly.

“What a sight,” Crowley said. “One I hadn’t expected tonight.”

Castiel put himself between them and Meg stared at the back of his head, confused by the action. “Leave the lady to dress.”

“Not often I see Abaddon royalty in a state of undress so I think I’ll watch, if you don’t mind.”

Castiel stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Do you need some help, Meg dear?”

“Pound salt,” was the reply and then a curse as Meg fought and failed to get into the corset. Castiel turned away from him and gestured for her to hold the sides to her breasts. With a skill he didn’t know he had, he began to lace her up again, aware of how she shivered when the back of his fingers touched her bare skin.

“Are you all right?” he asked and she shrugged.

“Could do without Crowley staring at me like I’m a hunk of meat.”

“Not likely going to happen,” Crowley said and he leaned against the one pillar. Behind him, a crowd of people were walking through maze. Alerted by Crowley’s loud voice, they were headed their way. “You are a sight, Princess.”

He spat the title out like an insult but Castiel felt Meg stiffen up as he finished the last of the laces. Once they were in a tight knot he grasped her by the nape of her neck and tugged lightly on her hair so her head lifted. Her eyes were black when she stared up at him and he searched them for answers.

“You’re Azazel’s daughter?”

“His youngest and most beloved,” Crowley said with obvious disdain. The gathering crowd were murmuring to one another as Meg finished hitching herself into her corset. “And clearly little more than a two-bit….”

“Enough, Crowley.” Through the crowd, Cain appeared in his grey doublet and pantaloons, imposing and deadly. His hand rested on his ceremonial sword as if he would draw it and run them all through. His bright eyes were like daggers as he stared at Meg.

You’ve humiliated her enough.“ Cain stepped forward around Castiel and took Meg’s arm in his. "Come on. You will owe the entire court an explanation for your behaviour”

She shrugged his arm off and brushed past Castiel without another look. Cain paused beside him though and grabbed hold him by the arm. Castiel pulled his arm free and glared up at the other man, who looked annoyed more than angry.

“You just seduced a Princess of Abaddon.”

Castiel stared at him but didn’t deny it. “We seduced each other.”

“There will be consequences,” Cain threatened. “If they don’t have your head for this, Azazel will.”

“I didn’t know who she was.” Castiel held up her lace and ivory mask as proof. “Or I wouldn’t have touched her.

Cain snorted. "I really doubt that.”

“That’s enough.” Dean suddenly was beside them and his green eyes sparkled. He too seemed more amused by what was going on than angry. “We’ll punish him. Without any of your kind interfering.”

“See that you do,” Cain threatened. “Azazel will not take kindly to his daughter dallying with a common soldier.”

Castiel stiffened but Cain only bowed shortly to Dean before snapping his fingers at Crowley. The sorcerer  fell into step and gave Castiel a slow wink. Then he was gone too and Castiel realized that most of the attention was on him. Dean said nothing, having been caught with noblewomen before just before made him less likely to say much to his servant, and gestured for the crowd to leave.

Castiel could only stare after the Abaddon entourage, hoping for and failing to even glimpse the last trail of Meg’s black dress as he clutched her mask in his hand.


End file.
